by Erin Hunter
“Don’t mention it again, Sky,” he murmured. “I don’t blame you for thinking it. I barely knew myself what had happened.”
“No. I should have known all along, even before I read her bones, that it was an accident. I knew you better than that, Rock, and I should have trusted my instincts, trusted you.” She raised her eyes to his. “Please forgive me for that lack of faith.”
“How can I not?” Rock looked startled. “Sky, I still haven’t quite forgiven myself. The Rage is a dreadful thing, but we bulls cannot shirk all responsibility for what happens while we’re in its grip. We must accept that we lose ourselves, lose control of our strength, and feel the remorse for what we might have done.”
“Acceptance and regret, perhaps,” she agreed sternly, “but not guilt, Rock. It’s time to let that go. River’s death is in the past, and all of us have paid for it—you, Boulder, and me too. Let her rest in peace now.”
Rock nodded somberly. “You’re wise, Sky. And kind.”
“And we can be together at last, without guilt,” she added. “Nothing stands in our way anymore. Nothing, except . . .”
“What?” He blinked at her.
She sighed and drew back a little, though her trunk remained twined with his. “I don’t carry the Great Spirit anymore, Rock, but I still feel a closeness to it—a responsibility for it, and for Bravelands. I can’t abandon the Spirit, and I can’t simply walk away to my own happiness. Bravelands is still under threat, from these evil spirit-eaters. If Bravelands has no peace from them, we never truly will either.”
Sky felt her muscles stiffen with resolve as Rock nodded, and she lifted her head a little higher.
“I have to help the Great Parent defeat the threat the wolves pose,” she said firmly.
“And so do I, Sky. We’re life-mates, and I’ll be at your side come what may.” Rock’s voice was steady as he gazed at her.
Warmth rushed through her body. Closing her eyes, Sky pressed her head to his. Despite his wounds she could feel his indomitable strength, and it gave her hope. They would all need determination like Rock’s, she suspected, in the battles to come.
“We should go and find our herds,” she whispered. “There is so much work to do.”
Together the two young elephants trudged through the churned black earth of the ruined forest, leaving the odors of death and smoke behind to head for the open savannah and its clear air. Nimble and Lively trotted happily alongside them, and Sky could feel the baboon stirring as they walked. She raised her trunk-tip to touch the baby with gentle reassurance.
It was so good to feel unburned grass and earth beneath her feet, and to smell the fragrant warm air that was free of ash. Sky paused for a moment, to drink it all in and to scan the savannah. There, in the middle distance on the shimmering plain, milled the mass of elephants who had heeded her call to help the Great Parent fight the flames: the bull herds and the female herds, all intermingled.
Some of the elephants turned as Sky and Rock ambled closer, and more than a few ears flapped in astonishment. A trumpet of greeting rang out: it was Comet’s voice, Sky realized, the matriarch of her own family. Star and old Flint were right behind her. Yet some of the other elephants continued to shoot Rock suspicious glances, especially the females of Mahogany Marcher’s herd. They grumbled quietly, even though Mahogany herself strode forward to greet Rock and Sky.
“Mahogany.” Rock stepped forward before a word could be said and lowered his head humbly. “I owe you an apology that I’ve never had a chance to give.”
“Rock.” The old matriarch nodded thoughtfully. “I am glad to see you alive. The past is the past, young bull, and River herself would want us all to put this behind us.”
Sky pressed close to Rock again, feeling his muscles sag with relief beneath his dark hide. “Rock and I,” she told Mahogany, and drew a breath, “we’d like to renew our pledge to each other.”
“And I’m happy to hear it,” said Mahogany, stroking Sky’s ear with her trunk. “Let all hear it, Sky Strider.”
Swallowing, Sky nodded and raised her head. Her eyes swept the watching herds, her heart thudding in her chest.
“Rock and I are life-mates once more,” she cried, loudly and clearly. “In the sight of the Great Spirit, now and forever.”
The elephants again exchanged rapid murmurs, and though there were still a few doubtful rumbles and querulous cries, those were soon drowned out by the trumpets of happiness and congratulation. One by one the elephants moved toward Sky and Rock, their greeting calls swelling in volume.
One young bull broke free of his herd and came trotting forward, his eyes solemn. Sky recognized her brother Boulder, the bull who had battled Rock in the fatal duel for River’s affections. He knew the truth about River’s death; she had explained it to him. But Sky was not at all sure how he would react to this news of their pledge-renewal; it was he and his herd-brothers who had driven out Rock in the first place.
Boulder halted before her, blowing at the dust. He nodded to her, then turned to Rock.
“Rock,” he rumbled, “my brother bull. I have spoken to my herd and we would like to welcome you once more, if it is your wish to join us.”
“Boulder.” Rock’s voice brimmed with relief and happiness. “I’m glad to.”
Boulder dipped his head, then raised it to let his voice carry loud and clear. “And if Sky chooses you as her life-mate, Rock, I respect her decision. More than that—I am happy for you both. All the herds should respect both your choices.”
“Thank you, Boulder,” Sky murmured, her throat tight with emotion.
All the elephants were surging closer now, stretching out their trunks toward Rock and Sky. Rock’s herd gathered around him, their great ears flapping. Sky felt the touch of a trunk-tip on her shoulder: Comet’s.
“Sky, I’m so pleased for you.”
“That means a lot, Comet.” Sky butted her matriarch’s shoulder fondly.
“The herds plan to remain together for a few days,” Comet went on. “It’s unusual, but then these times are strange. Why end it all before we are ready? But soon”—she paused, looking deep into Sky’s eyes—“soon we must go our separate ways.”
Sky knew what Comet was saying. The times were strange indeed, but the old practices could not be abandoned. It had been such a long time since she had traveled with the female herd, as was right and proper. . . .
“I know we must.” Sky nodded thoughtfully. “And Comet, I’m ready at last to rejoin the Strider herd. I will be with you, I promise. But this little baboon needs a mother.” She curled up her trunk to stroke the vulnerable creature between her shoulder blades, and it crooned in sleepy contentment. “It’s my responsibility to find it one.”
Comet laughed softly. “I understand, Sky. It’s your way, and I would never want you to change. Nor would any elephant in Bravelands—or any creature. In some ways you’re like the mother to us all.”
Sky felt embarrassment and pleasure all at once. One day I will travel with the female herd again. I know it. But not quite yet . . .
“Good-bye, Comet,” she whispered, pressing her head to her matriarch’s. “I’ll see you again very soon, I hope.”
Sky turned, raising her trunk in farewell to her own herd and the others. Rock drew away from his brother bulls and trudged to her side.
He laid his trunk across hers.
“We have more time together, Sky. Let’s share our good fortune and find this little baboon a family.”
Sky cast frequent glances back as they went on their way, watching the herds of her kind until their forms were rippling smudges in the heat haze, and then lost completely in the horizon. They crossed a small river that lapped up to her knees, and the small baboon took a little water from her trunk. As they climbed the bank on the far side, Rock halted just ahead.
“Wait, Sky.”
She came to a stop beside him. His ears flapped forward, and both elephants scanned the broad sweep of the savannah before them. Heat m
ade the grassland shimmer, and the acacia trees on the plain seemed to tremble. Far in the distance, herds of zebras and antelope moved, leisurely grazing; but closer to Rock and Sky, something else shifted in the bright sunlight: tawny shapes that were indistinct smears of gold in the camouflaging grass.
“Lions,” murmured Sky, “and they’re coming our way.”
“It’s a big pride.” Rock narrowed his green eyes, and she felt him tense. “Perhaps we should avoid them. Ordinarily I’d be sure they wouldn’t attack, but these days, who can be certain of anything?”
“No.” Sky peered harder into the shimmer of heat. “Rock, I recognize some of them. Look, that pale one is Honor, and next to her is Resolute. They’re Titanpride lions!”
Agitated, Rock made a deep rumble in his throat. “Then we’ll take a route that skirts them.”
But as they did so, the lions changed course too, clearly intending to intercept. Sky’s heart clenched, but any fear quickly gave way to anger. If Titan’s band wanted to try something foolhardy, she was confident that she and Rock between them would see it off. She was about to trumpet a warning at the approaching pride when her heart gave a leap of recognition. “Hold on, that’s Fearless! He’s leading them!”
“Fearless?” asked Rock, his ears flapping out defensively. “With Titanpride?”
“But I don’t see Titan.” Sky felt a shiver of uncertainty beneath her hide. “It doesn’t make sense. Fearless leads Titanpride lions? Something’s happened, and I need to know what. Fearless won’t hurt me, Rock, I’m certain of that. I have to speak with him.”
Rock took a deep breath, then blew it out heavily through his trunk. “I’ll be watching their every move.”
As the pride drew close enough for Sky to see Fearless’s face very clearly, she narrowed her eyes. She was still unafraid of her old ally, but it was clear Fearless had grown and changed. His shoulders were broader, his legs strongly muscled. His whole presence was far bigger than she remembered. And a mane had grown quite swiftly since she had seen him last, already bushy enough to frame his fierce and determined face. Now he truly was a lion who could inspire fear.
Raising her trunk, Sky let out a solemn trumpet of greeting. Fearless’s ears pricked, and he picked up his pace, bounding to meet her.
“Sky Strider,” he greeted her formally, halting to lift his head high. “I thought it was you.”
“Your pride—” she began.
“Many are Titan’s former pride, yes.” He nodded grimly. “They no longer follow that brute, Sky. We are Fearlesspride now.”
Sky and Rock exchanged a nervous look of relief. “Then it’s all the more good to see you, Fearless,” she told the lion warmly.
Suddenly Fearless looked far less certain of himself, and as he licked his jaws in hesitation his gaze slid away from hers. “I’m glad to have met you here too, Sky, but sorry for the news I bring.”
Sky narrowed her eyes, silent for a moment, and Fearless’s eyes met hers once again. She frowned. His were dark with emotion—Grief, she thought suddenly, with a lurch in her chest.
“Fearless, what’s happened?”
“Thorn,” he began. “Great Father Thorn—”
But his voice seemed to catch in his throat, and he had to swallow hard and lick his jaws again before he could go on speaking. Sky’s heart hammered with fear. “What, Fearless? Tell me!”
“He’s dead. Sky, Thorn is dead.” The young lion’s voice was rough with anguish. “Titan found him and took his heart.”
This time, it was Sky who couldn’t speak. A huge surge of grief filled her throat, and she felt herself sway; the baby baboon slipped a little and Rock instantly shifted his body supportively against hers. She blinked hard.
“The Great Father is dead?” she stammered at last, hoarsely. “They killed him?” Slowly, agonizingly, the full meaning of Fearless’s words began to penetrate the chaos in her mind. They took his heart. They took the heart of the Great Parent!
“No!” she cried, wildly jerking away from Rock and taking two rapid, stumbling steps forward. “The Great Spirit lived within Thorn!”
Fearless stared at her, a dawning horror in his eyes, as if the implications had only just struck him. “You mean . . .”
“Does Titan have the strength of the Great Spirit now?” Sky felt herself sway again, dizzied by horror. “Or is the Great Spirit dead?”
“If you’re right, Sky,” rumbled Rock as he drew close to her once more, “this is a disaster for more than just Thorn’s friends. It’s a catastrophe for all of Bravelands.”
“I should have known!” trumpeted Sky, a dark despair swamping her. “I should have sensed that the Spirit was in such danger. Why didn’t I know?” Perhaps, a small voice whispered inside her, because you were so wrapped up in finding Rock again, too obsessed with your own happiness. . . .
“Sky, don’t blame yourself!” Rock stroked her shoulder with his trunk. “You’re not the one who killed him. Titan did that!”
“The wolves, led by Titan,” snarled Fearless. “Thorn was my best friend, Sky. I understand your fears for the Great Spirit, but I can’t think about that right now. It’s Thorn I mourn, and it’s Thorn I will avenge!”
“I know.” Her voice broke. “I mourn him too, Fearless.”
The lion’s face grew tormented. “But before I even think of vengeance, I have to bring this news to his troop. I still have friends there—Thorn’s friends. His mate, Berry. She has to know, and it will break her heart.”
“We’ll go together.” Sky tried to draw herself up, though her muscles trembled with shock. “You, Rock, and I: we’ll tell Dawntrees that Thorn is lost. And somehow . . .” She felt a wrench of grief and pity. “Somehow, we have to try to bring comfort to Berry. Though I fear that might not even be possible.”
CHAPTER THREE
He could not stay away from the place where Berry’s body lay. If he couldn’t see her, it felt as if he was abandoning her. Already a faint odor of death was spreading through the shadowy glade. Thorn knew that insects and rot-eaters would come; perhaps some were here already. It was the way of Bravelands, though he couldn’t bear to contemplate it.
But perhaps that death-odor was a trick; perhaps there was still hope? His breath rough in his throat, Thorn padded toward the mounded shape beside a scattering of small boulders.
Berry lay there still; she hadn’t leaped up miraculously, she didn’t turn to him with laughing eyes and tell him it had all been a trick, a joke. No: in the end she had played only one great trick, and that was to pretend to the wolves that she was the true Great Parent. Berry had sacrificed herself to Titan and his cohorts so that Thorn himself could go on living.
And I wish so much that she hadn’t. It should have been me lying there.
Berry looked almost peaceful, and Thorn was glad her eyes were closed; he couldn’t bear to see them sink back in her skull, their gleaming brightness dulled by death. As it looked now, she could have been sleeping. The wound in her chest was still concealed by the heaped flowers Mud had put there, as the little baboon tried desperately to hide her fate from Thorn.
The wolves had taken her heart, her spirit. Berry would never wait for Thorn now, in the silver forests by the River of Stars. She was gone, gone altogether. He would never see her again, not even in death.
There was the pad of paws and soft breathing behind him, but Thorn didn’t jump or turn; his senses felt dull and blunt, as if he would never laugh or be happy—or even feel fear—ever again.
“Thorn,” Mud murmured softly at his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you want to be here. But you can’t stay. Please, Thorn, you have to flee. When Titan finds out—” The small baboon cleared his throat, staring at the corpse beneath the flowers. “When he finds out about Berry’s deception, he’ll be angrier than ever. Titan will come after you again with his wolf pack, and he’ll hunt you down without mercy.”
“I can’t run,” muttered Thorn, not taking his eyes off Berry. “If I flee now, B
erry’s sacrifice will have meant nothing. She did this for me and for Bravelands, and I won’t let her down. There’s no way I can abandon Bravelands to Titan and his madness. He’s done so much damage already; his wolves have spilled so much blood. It can’t go on.” At last he turned to face Mud. “I can’t let it go on.”
Two more baboons approached on silent paws: Nut and Spider, both of them unusually solemn. Nut came closer to put a paw on Thorn’s shoulder.
“Mud’s right, Thorn,” he said softly. “You can’t face Titan down—not physically. You need time to think, to plan, to come up with a strategy.” Nut sat back on his haunches, gazing steadily at Thorn. “Remember all we’ve learned since you became Great Father? So many animals were surprised at the Great Spirit’s choice, but we know for sure now: being Great Parent isn’t about physical strength. It’s about wisdom and cleverness. You have plenty of both, so give yourself time to make use of them.”
“It’s true,” Spider broke in, his eyes almost popping with eagerness. “It’s not about strength, Thorn-friend. Spider knows it, because a pygmy mouse was Great Parent once. So clever he was! The pygmy mouse Great Parent was only teeny tiny, but he kept every Bravelands creature in order—lions, leopards, even buffalo!”
“And who did you hear this story from, Spider?” asked Nut, rolling his eyes. “Was it from a pygmy mouse, by any chance?”
“Yes, indeed!” Spider nodded. “That’s how Spider knows it’s true!”
Nut sighed, and Thorn couldn’t help but feel a smile twitching at his muzzle.
“I’m sure Spider’s story is true in its essence, Nut,” he said quietly, “and that’s what matters. Maybe you’re all right: maybe I should take a step back and think about things for a while. Maybe . . . maybe at the ravine. It’s well hidden.” He swallowed hard, thinking of the times he and Berry used to meet secretly there, when their love was still forbidden by their troop. He couldn’t help but turn to her corpse again, his heart aching with the longing for her to leap up and laugh at him.
A branch above him creaked, and he glanced up. There sat Stinger, grinning down at him.
