Broken Pride

  Now!

  Fearless threw back his head and gave the loudest roar he could muster, the echo resounding through the trees. Its effect was instantaneous: a flock of birds erupted, jabbering, from the canopy, and the cheetahs all leaped to their paws, half crouched, heads low, and muzzles peeled back in defensive snarls. But as Fleet took a single pace in Fearless’s direction, another roar rang out from the opposite side of the trees. Bolt and Lightning spun around.

  “Titanpride!” hissed Fleet.

  The cheetah leader had courage, certainly. Instead of escaping, Fleet bolted straight toward him, with Lightning and another cheetah hard on his heels; Bolt led the others in the opposite direction, charging at Loyal.

  Fearless twisted and ran from them, darting and zigzagging through the bushes and over fallen logs. He could hear the cheetahs pursuing him, their paws light and swift and nimble. I can’t outrun them, he thought grimly. But I can give Thorn and Mud enough time to grab Ruthless.

  He coiled his haunches and sprang over a half-toppled stinkwood. That’ll slow them down a bit. From farther away through the trees, he heard Loyal’s mocking roar as he taunted his own pursuers. But the cheetahs behind Fearless were persistent; he heard the light drumming of their paws echoing in the undergrowth.

  “You!” bleated Fleet, behind him and far too close. “Didn’t learn your lesson, did you?”

  Fearless didn’t waste his breath on an answer. He was maneuvering his convoluted way back toward the strangler fig, keeping half his attention on it, desperate to see what was happening. Blurred at the edge of his vision, he could see the two baboons; Thorn’s slightly bigger shape was hanging on the tree’s lower vines, reaching with one long arm into a gap between the intertwined roots. Moments later he caught another glimpse: Thorn was hauling out a pale, tawny creature. It hung docilely in the baboon’s grasp.

  “Loyal!” Fearless barked as his friend’s form flashed by, close to him. “We’ve done it! Let’s get out of here!”

  Fleet, still racing behind him, mewled with rage. “What have you done? What?” His paws slithered and slowed in the leaf litter. “No! Bolt, Lightning, Rapid! They’ve taken the cub!”

  Fearless, too, skidded to a halt, panting hard. The cheetahs had abandoned their pursuit and were sprinting through the undergrowth, back toward the strangler fig.

  Keep going, he told himself, as he turned and ran again. I don’t think I should wait to find out the cheetahs’ reaction. . . .

  Sure enough, as he pounded through the mossy vegetation and barged through thick hanging creepers, he could hear their distant yelps and snarls of fury. For a brief, horrible moment he wondered if he was running in circles and would never find his way out. But finally, as he broke out of green shadows into the dazzling glare of the savannah, he allowed himself a grunt of triumph.

  Loyal was already out of the trees, bounding to meet Fearless. “Where are they? Where are the baboons?”

  “Here!” shouted two voices, as branches shook above the lions’ heads.

  Fearless stepped back, peering up into the trees. “Hurry up! The cheetahs might still come after us!”

  Thorn and Mud shinned quickly down their chestnut trunk, Thorn still gripping Ruthless under one arm. Like Stinger did with me! thought Fearless with a pang of memory. When the baboons were close to the ground, the little cub wriggled abruptly free and sprang the rest of the way, landing with a squeaky grunt.

  He flung himself with mews of delight at Fearless and Loyal, scampering around their paws. Fearless crouched to nuzzle the little cub. “Did my father send you?” yelped Ruthless. “That’s what the monkey told me!”

  “Hey,” Thorn yelled after him, “less of the ‘monkey.’”

  Loyal licked the cub’s back. “This was all Fearless’s idea, little one. He organized this rescue mission himself!”

  Fearless felt almost embarrassed at the pride in the older lion’s voice. “With help from my friends here,” he pointed out.

  “Well, I’ll pay you all back one day,” mewled Ruthless. “When I’m big, I won’t forget this!”

  A crackling of leaves and thin branches made Fearless and Loyal turn with bared fangs toward the forest. Shadows flickered quickly in the undergrowth, and the sound of running paws drew closer with alarming speed. The cheetahs broke out of the trees, their streaked faces furious.

  “That cub is ours!” snarled Fleet. Ruthless flinched and yelped, scuttling back toward Fearless’s paws.

  Fearless leaped to defend him, crashing his rump into the cheetah’s flank and flinging Fleet into a tumbling roll.

  The ease of it sent a thrill of victory surging through Fearless’s veins. His blood raced inside him, hot and angry, and suddenly he was filled with a familiar, violent energy. Opening his jaws wide, he stood over Fleet’s winded body and bellowed a great roar.

  “You got what you wanted,” he snarled, as his slaver dripped onto the cheetah’s enraged face. “The gazelle herd in the ravine will keep you fed for seasons! Ruthless is ours now—and no creature steals from a lion!”

  Between his splayed paws, the agile cheetah got his breath back and twisted. Fearless wasn’t expecting more resistance, and his moment of surprise gave Fleet a chance to wriggle to his paws. The swift cat launched himself at Fearless.

  With a holler of fury, Fearless met the cheetah in midair, slamming into him again. Both cats dropped to the ground and they rolled over in the dirt, clawing and kicking. Fearless glimpsed the horrified faces of the baboons; he saw Loyal snarling, blocking the other cheetahs as they tried to run to Fleet’s aid.

  Fleet squirmed, then rolled on top of Fearless, jaws snapping for his throat. Fearless tucked his hind legs between them and kicked hard, scrabbling with his claws at Fleet’s belly. One more violent kick and Fleet was dislodged, hitting the ground hard. Fearless sprang up, snarling, and sank his teeth into the stunned cheetah’s shoulder. Blood spurted warm onto his tongue and fangs, and his nostrils flared at the scent of it. But the enticing smell that filled his head wasn’t all blood: it was fear, too. Fleet was shuddering with terror.

  Fearless froze. He glared down at the skinny creature in his jaws, then shook him once and let him fall. Fleet crawled out of reach, shivering and whimpering.

  “The cub’s yours,” he gasped. “You win, lion.”

  Fearless grunted a triumphant roar as he watched Fleet limp away with the rest of his coalition, their tails hanging low in defeat.

  He was still glaring after the cheetahs when Thorn and Mud hurtled to his side, stroking his fur and hooting their approval.

  “You did it!” cried Mud.

  “You were amazing!” whooped Thorn.

  “You were. Thank you, Fearless.” The little rescued cub trotted over almost shyly. Then he puffed out his chest. “I’m going to fight cheetahs when I’m big!”

  “I wouldn’t make a habit of it.” Loyal laughed. Shaking his mane, he turned to Fearless and licked his blood-spattered ear. Fearless heard the low rumble of the lion’s voice.

  “Your father would be proud of you, Fearless Gallantpride.”

  The sun was low in the twilit sky as Fearless strode across the grassland, the little cub trotting at his side. Loyal had left them before there was a chance of running into Titan; Fearless missed his reassuring company, but he was pleasantly surprised at how confident he felt escorting Ruthless on his own. I can protect him. I’ve proved that.

  Ruthless’s eyes were drooping with tiredness, but when Titanpride came into view, sprawling together in the evening glow, he perked up immediately and gave a squeak of happiness.

  Hearing the sound, Artful rose up on her forepaws, ears pricked. Titan too raised his great black-maned head. In an instant they were both on their paws along with the whole pride, loping across the plain toward Fearless and the cub.

  “Ruthless!” growled Artful. She bounded almost on top of him, licking him frantically. “Are you hurt? My cub, my cub!”

  Pitched sideways by the ferocity
of her caresses, Ruthless rolled onto his back, mewling happily. “I’m fine, Mother! Fearless rescued me!”

  Fearless glanced beyond her; he could see Valor murmuring to Swift. She’s telling her that I came back, that I brought Ruthless. That we’re all safe. A wave of pure relief flooded through him, and he felt suddenly shattered with exhaustion.

  And then a shadow blocked his view of his mother and sister. Fearless repressed a shiver and looked up. Titan stood before him, as huge and menacing as ever. The massive lion peeled his muzzle back from his fangs.

  Fearless swallowed hard and bared his own. “I kept my oath,” he growled, making himself hold Titan’s baleful gaze. “Now you must let my mother live.”

  “And you,” spat Titan, glowering. “Unfortunately. I, Titan, am no oathbreaker.” The huge lion’s eyes glinted with hatred. “But I do not trust you, Fearless. I don’t want you out of my sight, plotting and scheming. So, yes, I will spare you and your mother—but only if you both stay with Titanpride.”

  “What?” Fearless’s hackles sprang up. “This wasn’t part of the deal—”

  He hesitated. Titan’s gaze was steady and malevolent on his, but beyond him, Valor stood, her tail twitching. She was blinking at Fearless, her expression filled with warning. Be careful, Swiftbrother! Be sensible! He could almost hear her say it.

  Turning back to Titan, he licked his jaws, then gave a slow nod. “Very well. We’ll stay with Titanpride. Both of us.”

  Valor closed her eyes briefly, looking relieved. Then she murmured something to Swift, and the old lioness’s scarred face lit up with anxious happiness.

  “Fearless is staying? Wow!” Ruthless, not looking at all sleepy now, bounded clumsily to his father. “That’s great. He’s the bravest lion I’ve ever met!”

  The shudder of disgust that crossed Titan’s face was worth all the effort of retrieving his cub, Fearless decided with stifled amusement. The big lion swatted Ruthless, only half playfully, and he rolled over with a squeak of delight. Slapping back at his father with his little paws, he rolled around happily as Titan glowered at Fearless.

  “I’ll be watching you, son of Gallant.” The low snarl was the most menacing Fearless had ever heard.

  Fearless didn’t answer his new leader, but simply inclined his head in as small a motion as he thought he could get away with. Then, turning away, he padded to join Valor and Swift. They greeted him with joyful nuzzles, growls, and licks, and at last they all lay down together, flanks pressed close, basking in the last of the light.

  “We were so worried for you,” murmured Swift. “My fearless son.”

  “Not quite fearless,” he said wryly, butting her neck. “I had some bad moments. I was very scared, actually.”

  “And you are all the braver for that,” she said quietly. “I’m grateful for what you did for me, my Swiftcub. But I wish Titan hadn’t made you stay. He means you harm.”

  “Yes,” agreed Valor darkly. “He may be happy to have his cub back, but he’ll see your success as a challenge, Fearless. Don’t forget that. Be careful.”

  “Of course.” He licked them both with long strokes of his tongue. “I know what Titan thinks of me. But what really matters is that I’m back with you. I missed you both so much.”

  Contentedly, he nestled closer to his mother and sister. Maybe—I think—I’m starting to earn my name.

  And one day, he knew, he would keep that other oath, the one he had made as a reckless, lonely, frightened cub.

  I will defeat Titan.

  I will take back my father’s pride.

  CHAPTER 23

  “I tell you all: these two are very brave, imaginative, and special baboons!”

  Stinger addressed Brightforest Troop from the Crown Stone, his voice warm yet commanding. He gestured at Thorn and Mud with one paw, and although the baboons of Brightforest Troop shot admiring glances toward them, they also gazed at Stinger, entranced.

  Thorn was rather glad he didn’t have the troop’s exclusive attention. He was almost embarrassed at the fuss his Crownleaf had lavished on them since their return. Stinger had been so delighted at their tales of the adventure with Fearless and Loyal, he had insisted the two young baboons come to the Council Glade and relate the story to the whole troop.

  The other baboons had listened in fascination, gasping and whooping at some points, and although it had felt awkward telling the tale to such a crowd, Thorn couldn’t help being pleased, too. It was a good story, he decided with an inward glow. He was especially happy for Mud, who looked thrilled to be the center of attention for once. Thorn noticed with quiet delight that Mud’s mother, the Starleaf, looked as if she might burst with pride.

  Stinger was still making his speech, and it was clear that the gathered baboons hadn’t tired of his voice yet. A big change from Grub’s day, thought Thorn a little guiltily.

  “Thorn Middleleaf and Mud Lowleaf have set a fine example for the troop’s future with their resourcefulness and their courage,” Stinger declared. “They have spread Brightforest Troop’s name and reputation far across Bravelands!”

  As he finished with a small bow, the troop yelled and beat the ground. Thorn blinked and dipped his head.

  “Hooray for Stinger Crownleaf, leader of baboons!”

  “Long life to Thorn Middleleaf and Mud Lowleaf!”

  “Bright-for-est! Bright-for-est!”

  Berry scampered to his side, her dark eyes brimming with pride. “I loved your story, and, well, I’m glad you came home safe.”

  “Thank you,” Thorn stammered, delighted and embarrassed at the same time.

  Berry lowered her voice to a whisper. “Will you meet me in the ravine? I want to hear more about it. I want you to tell the story just for me.”

  Happiness tingled through him. “Of course. I can’t wait!”

  “I’ll see you soon.” With a smile, Berry slipped away to congratulate her father.

  Hope swelled in Thorn’s heart. Stinger Crownleaf would make the rules now, and Stinger looked beyond the forest, beyond all the old traditions. He won’t be obsessed with the tale of Sunrise and Moonlight, thought Thorn. One day, he might allow a real pairing between Berry and me!

  All the same, for the moment Thorn knew he must take the long path to the ravine; there was no point in revealing his relationship with Berry now, when they were so close to a real future together. He made his way in a long, looping route around the forest, heading for his well-used path across the grassland. Just for the fun of it, he snatched at twigs and playfully batted lichen fronds as he ran.

  Despite his high and happy mood, something caught his eye as he passed a cluster of date palms. There was a clump of ferns at their base, but something was sticking out of them, something big and solid. He’d almost tripped on it in his heedless haste. Thorn frowned curiously and crouched to tug it out. Its surface was a mottled yellow, scored with three deep claw scars.

  The Starleaf’s hollow branch. One of the flat stones was missing; Thorn sucked his teeth. I hope that isn’t lost for good. It won’t be any use without its stopper.

  Lifting the branch, he upended it; he almost gave a yelp of shock when a cluster of scorpions tumbled out, legs and pincers tangled.

  But they were dead; dried up and lifeless. The thump of relief in his chest was quickly followed by confusion. I thought Stinger wanted them fresh?

  Thorn peered down at the scattered scorpion remains. Stinger ate the bodies and left the tails. But it was only the tails that were missing from these; the rest of the bodies were intact.

  Maybe Stinger had pulled off the tails and left them in the log. He shook the branch again, hard. But it was quite empty.

  Thorn went absolutely still. Suddenly he felt incapable of moving.

  The tails were poisonous.

  The venom was in the tails.

  The tails are missing.

  Thorn’s paws felt cold and numb, as if they didn’t belong to him; the hollow branch tumbled from his grip into the fern clump.
A cold horror spread through his limbs and up his spine.

  Grub was poisoned. Could someone have found these scorpions and used their venom?

  No, it’s not possible. It isn’t. I gave these to Stinger; he wouldn’t have just left them lying around.

  But then why would the tails be missing? Unless Stinger himself . . .

  No. Not Stinger, no way.

  He wouldn’t do such a thing.

  Thorn couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

  Except . . . it’s the only explanation that makes sense.

  Stinger was his champion, his mentor, his friend. He was going to be the finest leader Brightforest Troop had ever had, Thorn knew it. How can he possibly be a murderer?

  And yet here were the tailless scorpions. Scorpions that Thorn had caught for Stinger, in the container Thorn had given him.

  Thorn felt sick: Nut had been exiled from the troop for the killing. He, Thorn, had been part of that; he’d helped convince the troop to drive him away.

  This can’t be true.

  Yet deep in his numb heart, Thorn knew it was.

  Clenching his jaws, he snatched up one of the tailless scorpion corpses. If I think too long about this, I won’t do it. I need to do it now.

  Turning, he bounded back through the forest, the scorpion gripped so tightly in his paw its pincers hurt the soft flesh of his palm. Thorn didn’t care. He ran and searched until he found Stinger, crouched on his haunches against a tree as he gave orders to a group of Highleaves.

  The young Highleaves were listening intently to their Crownleaf, their expressions full of adoring respect. Thorn felt his brow knotting in a frown. Stinger hadn’t even wanted to be Crownleaf, had he? It was Berry who pushed him forward. And Stinger had been the one who refused to condemn Nut without a vote. Why do that, if he himself had been the killer?

  When Stinger saw Thorn’s expression, he dismissed the other Highleaves. They all nodded and scampered away to fulfill their tasks, leaving their leader alone in the clearing. Thorn pushed forward through the bushes. He halted, limbs trembling, in front of his Crownleaf.

  “What is it, Thorn?” Stinger asked.