Broken Pride

  Thorn’s burning anger cooled a fraction. Could it be that he was wrong?

  He opened his hand, showing Stinger what was inside. “I found all of these,” he said coldly.

  Stinger gazed down at the brittle corpse for a long moment. Then he raised his head to study Thorn. “And?” he asked.

  And just from the passionless stare, Thorn knew his suspicions were correct.

  “You killed Grub Crownleaf,” he said.

  Stinger’s eyes remained fixed on him. “Yes, Thorn, I did.”

  For a moment, Thorn had no idea how to respond. What hurt most—worse than any scorpion sting—was his master’s betrayal.

  “You broke the Code,” said Thorn. “And you got me to help you! You made me fetch the poison!”

  Stinger was still watching him, absolutely calm. He gave the tiniest shrug.

  “The only surprise,” Stinger said, “is that it took you so long to figure it out.”

  A sudden, appalling thought made Thorn’s head reel, and he almost staggered. “Did you kill Bark Crownleaf? Did you kill her too?”

  Stinger picked at one of his fangs with a claw. He licked the notch on his lip. His gaze lingered on Thorn. “I did what I had to do.”

  Thorn stared. He felt as if something inside his rib cage had broken; he didn’t have breath to answer.

  “Oh, Thorn Middleleaf.” Stinger shook his head ruefully. “Do you see how happy the troop is now? A strong, intelligent leader is good for everyone—but sometimes it takes baboons a little while to realize who that leader should be. Sometimes they make a mistake in their choice, and they have to be guided to make the right decision.”

  “Guided.” Thorn’s voice was a barely audible rasp.

  “Look at what I will do for Brightforest Troop!” Stinger urged him, his eyes bright and eager. “We will find new and better territory, abundant food and drink. Our strength and influence will expand! You see, don’t you, Thorn? Everything I have done, everything I might do in the future: it has all been for the good of Brightforest Troop.”

  “No. You did it for yourself!”

  “For instance: your friend Fearless,” Stinger continued, as if Thorn hadn’t spoken. “I brought him into the troop, didn’t I? I rescued him and made him one of us, and that gave us a lion on our side. Do you think any other baboon would be so innovative, so imaginative, so farsighted?” Cocking his head closer to Thorn, he licked his fangs carefully and murmured, “Do you see how far I will go in my mission to protect Brightforest?”

  A shudder ran from the crown of Thorn’s head to the tip of his paws. I know what he’s saying. His voice shook as he muttered, “Y-yes.”

  “Good,” said Stinger cheerfully. “Now, this hasn’t been the most pleasant conversation we’ve ever had, so let’s forget it happened, you and I.” Dropping forward onto all fours, he began to pad away, but he twisted to look at Thorn again. “No other baboon needs to know, do they? Not Mud. And especially not Berry.”

  The look in Stinger’s eyes as he said his daughter’s name turned Thorn’s blood cold. For a long time after Stinger vanished into the trees, he stayed motionless, chilled to the bone.

  He would kill me if he had to. He’s made that clear. Thorn suddenly remembered where he was supposed to be. Berry. Shaking himself fiercely, he ran on paws he could barely trust toward the grassland and the ravine, not bothering to take the long way around.

  Berry has a right to know! She should be told what her father’s really like.

  Thorn’s heart shrank inside him, and his paws faltered. Berry was honest and principled. She wouldn’t stay quiet about this, she’d confront him. And what would Stinger do then?

  Everything in him rebelled at the idea of lying to Berry.

  But I’m going to have to. She can’t know.

  Berry was waiting patiently for him beneath their favorite shelf of rock, the one that overlooked the gazelles’ main grazing patch. Above her, the great river of stars glittered in the black night; it was as beautiful as ever, but the moon was no longer full: it was shrinking as if a great python were opening its jaws and swallowing it.

  “Thorn!” Berry smiled up at him. “What took you so long? I was starting to think you’d gone off on another cheetah adventure.”

  He found he couldn’t smile back, and the words he wanted to say got caught in his throat. Berry frowned.

  “What’s wrong, Thorn?”

  Tilting his head back, Thorn stared up at the glittering sky. It hurt too much to look at Berry’s gentle, concerned face.

  He realized then what he had to do. She won’t ever be safe while I have Stinger’s secret.

  “I . . . Berry, I think maybe we . . . we shouldn’t meet up so often.”

  “What?” Her smile lingered for long moments; then it faded to a look of hurt that was almost unbearable.

  Thorn swallowed. He had no choice but to go on. “We’re different ranks,” he said; the dryness of his throat made his words sound harsh, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m a Middleleaf, and you’re a Highleaf. We ought to respect the rules. That’s what Sunrise and Moonlight teach us.”

  Her expression tore at his heart. “I—Thorn, I don’t care about that stupid legend! I thought you didn’t either!”

  “Well, I . . . I do now.”

  There was a terrible, endless silence. Then Berry sprang to her paws.

  “This isn’t you I’m talking to, Thorn. It can’t be!” Her voice cracked. “Is that all you have to say?”

  Thorn couldn’t look at her. “It is,” he mumbled.

  Berry took a deep breath. “Look for me again when you’ve found the Thorn I remember. I don’t want to know this one!”

  Thorn watched her go, running and leaping up the narrow rocky path. Every sinew of him ached to run after her, to shout her name and call her back, but he clenched his fists and his jaws until she had vanished over the lip of the ravine. She was running from him so fast, it didn’t take long.

  Misery swamped him, and he slumped onto his haunches.

  And what do you do now, Thorn Middleleaf?

  Now?

  Well, he had to follow and obey Stinger Crownleaf, even knowing what he knew; he must pretend to admire and respect him. He had to keep Berry and Mud safe and happy, while he lied and lied until they both turned away from him in disgust. He had to keep the most terrible secret he had ever known, letting it eat away at his aching heart.

  I can’t do it. I can’t do this on my own. I need help.

  And he knew the only place he could find it.

  Tomorrow, the Great Gathering took place at the beautiful, peaceful watering hole. Tomorrow, any creature of the Bravelands, however desperate, could ask for help.

  I have to go to Great Mother.

  CHAPTER 24

  All was quiet on the shores of the silver lake; a waning moon cast its light in a narrow beam across the rippling waters. Nearby in the darkness, as crickets and frogs chirped and croaked, the elephant herd slumbered. Something small rustled in the trees; a rat, thought Sky, or maybe a hare. But she mustn’t let the night sounds distract her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

  Great Mother was right: this gets easier the more I practice. The killer’s face is clearer every time. She touched the baboon skull once again, delicately, with the tip of her trunk.

  The silver water and the moonlight on the trees blurred together into a pale haze. That face was forming in her vision again; brown-furred and long snouted, its jaws open to display long yellow fangs. Sky squeezed her eyes tighter, concentrating, trying to see it properly.

  And there it was! Suddenly, the image was so clear she could make out each gray and brown tuft of hair surrounding its face. She could see its long black snout and the notch of an old wound slashed above its nostrils. The baboon was looking straight at her, its amber eyes glowing with a dangerous intelligence, and as she watched in horror, it opened its jaws wider and gave an earsplitting screech.

  Sky backed instinctively away,
and the vision seemed to swirl and melt into her last waking dream. She remembered it so clearly: the watering hole, brimming with blood; the trees like claws tearing at the tumultuous sky. The same baboon. The same one. And beneath the baboon, the lion it rode, roaring and buckling in anguish.

  Sky gasped, blinked, and snatched her trunk away from the skull. The vision vanished. Once again the night was cool and dark and peaceful, the song of crickets soothing in her ears. Not far away, the water rippled and splashed as some creature waded in to drink.

  Sky breathed hard, calming herself. The creatures in my vision are nothing like the lion and the baboon I met with Great Mother. She remembered the young lion standing up so bravely to the cheetahs, desperate to save his mother’s life. She remembered the baboon’s face, furrowed with anxiety and grief as he found out about the death of his troop leader.

  Perhaps the vision is of their future? But no—she couldn’t believe that of them. The baboon Thorn Middleleaf was the furthest from evil she could imagine. And the Cub of the Stars was his friend!

  She was so perplexed, it took her a moment to realize that the crickets and the frogs had stopped singing. There was a sudden, eerie calm.

  And then the silence exploded into a riotous commotion. Screams, thrashing, splashing, grunts, and roars: Sky stumbled back in shock, peering around in terror, not knowing which way to run—or even if she should.

  The other elephants woke at the racket: some shook themselves awake, others who had lain down were rolling onto their knees and shoving themselves to their feet, trunks raised. Ears flapped in fear and confusion, and Rain trumpeted an alarm.

  “Great Mother? Something’s happening! Great Mother!”

  There was only silence. The elephants looked at one another. Sky felt a coil of unease tighten in her gut. “Great Mother?” she rumbled.

  “Where is she?” asked Star, bewildered, drawing a sleepy Moon close to her side.

  The sounds of conflict erupted again, shattering the night and waking zebras and gazelles. They circled and brayed, and buffalo stamped and bellowed.

  “It’s coming from along the lake!” blared Twilight. “Come on!”

  Sky spun and cantered along the shoreline as fast as she could, blundering her way through shrubs, sending small animals darting away in fright. Except for Star, keeping Moon protectively at her flank, the rest of the Strider family followed right behind Sky; she could hear their massive feet pounding on the earth, but she didn’t look back. The moonlight picked out the landscape in silver, but still Sky almost slipped when she careered onto a mudflat that was churned and deeply pitted. She stumbled to a halt, breathing hard.

  The ground was torn up, plants and shrubs trampled and crushed. “There’s been a fight!” she cried to her aunts in dismay. There was a horrible, cold knot in her stomach. “Where is Great Mother?”

  Sky saw the old elephant before her aunts had even caught up with her. A massive, humped shape sprawled in the water, a little way from shore. Tiny waves lapped around it, stained oddly dark.

  With a squeal of distress, Sky plunged into the water and lurched toward the ominous form. Behind her, the herd were trumpeting in horror, and she heard the echoing splashes of their feet as they waded frantically after her.

  Great Mother lay so still. Sky knew before she reached her side that she was dead.

  Sky flung herself against the great matriarch’s body, pressing her head to the lifeless flank, stroking the tough hide desperately with her trunk. “Great Mother. Oh, Great Mother, no.”

  Her aunts surrounded the body, caressing it, rumbling and trumpeting with grief. Sky felt a trunk rub her head gently, trying to comfort her.

  “How has this happened?” cried Twilight.

  “Look,” said Comet grimly. With her trunk she gently touched one of the ugly gashes on Great Mother’s flank. Sky could see, too, that one of her tusks had been snapped off.

  “She’s been murdered!” cried Sky.

  There was silence all around her. Every elephant could see that it was true. Comet pulled Sky to her flank, cuddling her close with her huge trunk.

  “Why would anyone harm Great Mother?” sobbed Sky. She flinched as a crocodile drifted by, farther out, smirking. Crocodiles didn’t follow the Code. “You?” she gasped, knowing full well the creature could not reply.

  But Rain shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so, Sky. Even a big crocodile would struggle to overcome Great Mother. And they would have . . . they’d have . . .” She swallowed. “. . . Eaten her.”

  “Who, then? Hippos?” Sky knew how dangerous hippopotamuses could be. “Aunt Comet! Aunt Twilight! Who would do this?”

  “I don’t know.” Comet’s eyes were dark and moist with grief. “I just don’t know who would hurt Great Mother.”

  “What will we do?” wailed Sky desperately.

  “There’s nothing we can do, young one,” murmured Rain, caressing her ear gently. “All we can do is watch over her. We can’t help Great Mother now, but there are still dangers in the water.” She lifted her trunk fiercely. “No other enemy must come near her.”

  But Sky’s mind was reeling still. I knew there was danger at the watering hole. And I was right.

  She raised her head as she heard more splashing: Star was approaching now, leading a fearful Moon. The little elephant was trembling at his mother’s side, and his eyes were wide with terror. “What happened? Why is Great Mother lying in the water?”

  “Oh, Moon.” Unable to move, Sky reached out her trunk to draw him close to her. The torn, lifeless body in the water was the most horrific thing she had ever seen, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her beloved grandmother.

  Star edged close to Moon’s other flank once more, so that the little elephant was protected and surrounded. That’s good, thought Sky numbly. We can comfort him, even though there’s no comfort for any of us.

  “Great Mother has left us, my little one,” whispered Star. “She didn’t want to, but she has.”

  Sky lost track of time in her grief and didn’t notice the lightening of the sky until finally the sun began to rise. The Strider family stood their ground, silently watching the body, as the colors of Bravelands came alive. And with it, the horror. Around Great Mother’s corpse, the silver water was stained dark with blood. Unable to look at the terrible wounds themselves, Sky made herself focus only on the broken stump of Great Mother’s tusk, where at least there was no blood. Her breathing echoed loudly in her own ears; she concentrated on the sound of it, barely able to think. Nothing makes sense anymore.

  “Sky was right,” said Twilight, bowing her head with a tormented sigh. “We should never have come to the watering hole.”

  Sky’s aching heart was so heavy inside her, it was hard to move. My visions were true. The lion and the baboon came. The watering hole turned red with blood: Great Mother’s blood. But slowly, through the grief, a clear thought formed in her head. Great Mother will tell me what we should do next. She won’t abandon us. I know she won’t.

  Trembling, she waded through the water toward the great head and the broken tusk. Show me, Great Mother. Please.

  Sky stretched out her trunk and delicately touched the sad, cracked stump. She closed her eyes and waited for the vision Great Mother would send her.

  The water rippled, silver and clear; the breeze rustled twig and fern and leaf. A bee-eater flew from bush to bush in a flash of blue and russet and gold. The colors did not blur; the landscape did not shimmer and turn pale.

  And Sky saw no dream, vision.

  Nothing at all.

  EPILOGUE

  High, high above the plains, Windrider soared, resting on the currents, feathers twitching and flaring. Below her, Bravelands stretched to what seemed an eternity; the skies were blue and dazzlingly bright. Not a cloud or a storm or even a whirling dust devil stirred the air.

  So the violent wave of shock came from nowhere. Windrider was flung off balance by the unseen force, shuddering through her from wingti
p to wingtip. She spun and flailed for terrifying moments before she could balance herself. Glancing back, she saw her whole flock flapping in turmoil, eyes stunned. They, too, had felt the unnerving gust of power.

  “My brothers and sisters!” rasped Windrider, braking in the air and beating her wings. “Something terrible has disturbed Bravelands!”

  “Did you sense the source?” croaked Blackwing. “We will follow you down.”

  Windrider banked and swooped, knowing her flock was right behind her. Below her the plains rushed past in a blur of gold and green. Far off in the sky, she could see the distant black dots of more vultures, all converging ominously on the same spot. Windrider’s heart twisted with dread.

  Windrider skimmed across a ravine, a deep green slash in the grassland where gazelles browsed and grazed. Beyond it, the secretive canopy of a forest sprawled like a great dark flower; baboons raced through the treetops, screeching and pointing as they gazed up at her. On the open plains beyond that, a pride of lions lay basking in sunlight. One of them, a youngster, rose half to his paws, staring at the vultures; she had seen him before, she was sure, but there was no time to wonder.

  In moments the watering hole came into view, the great spreading silver lake where the herds of Bravelands gathered. A family of elephants clustered on the bank, huddling close together as if for comfort.

  There, in the shallow rippling waters, lay a body she knew with every fiber of her being.

  Great Mother.

  Grief shivered through Windrider, bitter and sharp. Stretching out her huge black wings, she flapped down to settle on Great Mother’s flank. She flinched. Cold already.

  Her flock swooped and hopped down behind her; then the sky was full of vultures, a chaos of wings that beat and calmed and settled until Great Mother was covered in the birds, their black wings outstretched. When there was no space left on the matriarch’s lifeless form, the vultures crowded onto trees and bushes, and onto the muddy bank.

  This is one body we will not eat, Windrider knew. We will protect her. She lifted up her head and let out a great cry of mourning; the other vulture flocks added their voices to hers until the air resounded with their rasping, croaking tribute.