by Erin Hunter
But as those pale and eerie trunks rose higher in his vision, the whole pack veered away. He turned with them, skirting the pallid trees at a wide angle; it was for the best, because evil lived in that forest. He was glad to follow the clan, glad to steer clear of the ghostly trees—
No. He was Great Father Thorn, and he had a job to do. Thorn released his hold on the hyena and soared among the trees on the wings of a solitary weaver bird . . .
There!
Not a single, clear spirit, but a dark massing presence, a chaos of warring existences all focused on one spot among the pale trunks.
Titan!
Thorn did not want to approach that mass of spirits, but he knew he must. With a sense of awful dread and reluctance, he let his mind float free of the weaver bird and sink into the morass that was Titan.
The pain and distress were even worse than he had expected. There was such sorrow here, and anger, and grief, and despite the crowding of spirits, a terrible black loneliness. He could not see through Titan’s eyes; the world around him was blurred and confused, and a multitude of voices seemed to scream at him for help and for comfort. Dizzy, Thorn reeled. He clutched for purchase inside this terrible mind, but there was none: it was like trying to keep his balance on a log that rolled and bounced downstream in a raging torrent.
He had to cling on, had to know Titan’s mind and his intentions. But it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t hold on, he would fall and drown, he—
With a stomach-churning jolt, Thorn’s eyes snapped wide, and he gasped. He was back in his own body, the heat of the ravine beating down on him, and his friends were holding him.
“Thorn, are you all right?” said Mud.
“You fell from the tree!” said Nut. “It’s lucky we caught you!”
“I’m fine,” said Thorn, but his voice sounded thick and sluggish, and his ears rang. His limbs felt weak. Sure enough, he was at the base of the trunk where he had been sitting a moment ago.
“Thorn-friend, don’t talk,” cooed Spider, his voice full of concern.
“Rest for a moment,” urged Nut.
“I can’t!” Thorn cried in exasperation. His strength returned, and he thumped his fists on the hard ground. “I couldn’t get a grip on Titan’s mind at all. It’s so full of other spirits, I can’t focus on him. And it doesn’t help that—that I think he’s gone completely insane. I don’t think any mind could cope with all those other presences.”
“He was a mad lion to begin with.” Nut shrugged.
“What am I going to do?” exclaimed Thorn. “I can’t just go up against Titan if I don’t know what he’s planning. We have enough disadvantages as it is.”
“Maybe you don’t need to know his mind,” said Mud thoughtfully.
“What? But that’s the whole point—”
“No, Thorn, wait. I was thinking.” Mud furrowed his brow. “What if you could get into the mind of a lion near Titan? One who’s always with him. What about that annoying cub of his?”
Thorn blinked, startled. Now that Mud said it, it seemed obvious. “Menace?”
“That’s the one.” Mud nodded.
“The small, evil brute,” observed Nut. “Yes, you could spy on Titan from inside her head.”
“Spider thinks Mud-friend makes a good point.” Spider scratched his armpit, dislodging his pet agama lizard, which scuttled indignantly onto his shoulder.
“I think so too.” For the first time in what seemed an age, Thorn felt rising excitement. He closed his eyes yet again, calming his thoughts, and pictured the arrogant little lion cub. She’ll be near him. She’s bound to be. I can find Titan one more time, even if I never want my mind to touch his ever again.
A giraffe this time. That same gerenuk. One of a flock of blue starlings, massing on the grassland near the Dead Forest. A single golden wolf, trotting purposefully toward the lifeless trees—
And there was the terrible dark presence, and a smaller, more innocent one at its side. Homing in on Menace with the speed of a stooping eagle, Thorn burst into her young mind.
Compared to her father, it was almost restful to inhabit Menace’s existence. This mind, Thorn realized, was arrogant, rank with a sense of entitlement, but there was a freshness and openness to it that seemed completely alien to Titan’s blackly clouded presence. The cub had a meanness in her heart, but that wasn’t all there was.
He was Menace, and he was thoroughly enjoying the tatters of flesh that he licked from the bone between his paws. Though he was simply a passenger in her head, her thoughts reached him along with other sensations. Thigh of a gazelle, her mind told him. Delicious, and better than anything the wolves got. But then, I deserve it.
At the thought of the wolves, Thorn-Menace glanced up at them, mouth full of warm meat. They were watching her, just a little too closely, their yellow eyes bright and hungry. A little shiver went through her spine, but she shook it off.
“Father,” she said imperiously.
“What?” Titan sounded irritated, as if he’d like to flick her away with his tail like an annoying fly.
Menace wasn’t put off. “Father, what’s it like? Having the Great Spirit inside you?”
“What, cub?” Titan turned, his gaze impenetrable and glittering.
“What’s it feel like?” she pressed him. “Do you feel unbeatable? Or is it all nonsense?”
Titan stretched, clawing the earth. “To be honest, the mighty Great Parent was a little disappointing.” He laughed, a bone-freezing sound. “Much like any other heart. A little chewy.”
“Oh.” Menace’s ears drooped, then perked up again. “Father, when can I start eating hearts?”
“I’ll tell you what, cub.” Titan prowled close and bent his head to hers. His breath was rank with blood. “When I kill Fearless, I’ll let you have a bite of his. I daresay it’ll be soft enough for small teeth.”
Menace giggled, licking her father’s nose—Ugh, thought Thorn, recoiling inside her—and then grew thoughtful. “Why didn’t you do it then, Father? Why didn’t you kill stupid Fearless when you had the chance?”
“Are you . . . questioning me, daughter?” Titan’s eyes flashed with scorn.
“No, I—”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you anyway.” Titan’s red tongue came out to lick his jaws. “Some hearts are better savored, young one. Fearless is an arrogant cub. He’s full of himself, full of his own potential, completely certain of his sunlit future. The stronger he grows, the more full of hope and desire and eagerness, the better his heart will taste.”
“Fearless is already powerful,” snarled one of the wolves, padding in a circle around Titan and Menace. “That lion has killed several of the Bloodheart Pack.”
“You are nothing but wolves, Maul,” sneered Titan. “That’s no achievement for Fearless.”
Maul’s hackles rose, and his muzzle peeled back to reveal his fangs. “And when will you prove your power, Titan? When will you deliver what you promised us?”
“Patience!” roared Titan. He lashed out with a paw, and the wolf Maul flinched back, still snarling. “You’ll have what you desire, all of you. Bravelands is close to turmoil and chaos. Its creatures are weak and scattered and disoriented, and they’ll cling like leeches to any leader who offers them safety and certainty. Fear begets power, Maul, don’t you know that yet?”
“Oh, we know it,” hissed Maul.
“Then remember it.” Titan drew himself up, and his shadow seemed to fall far more broadly than it should. “Things are falling apart, and when that happens, the Bravelands herds will call one of their Great Gatherings. It’s all they know, the stupid, panic-stricken fools. When the Gathering happens, that will be the time to explain the new order to them. And do you know what will happen?”
Maul shook his head.
“They’ll welcome it,” growled Titan. “They’ll seize their new beginning with desperation and devotion. By that time, they’ll have had more than enough of the old and dying ways.”
He t
urned and gazed deeply into Menace’s eyes. She did not move a muscle.
No. He wasn’t looking into Menace’s eyes. He was looking through them—
As if he could see what, and who, lay beyond—
“Ah, my friends, my comrades,” murmured Titan, narrowing his own gaze with hateful curiosity, “someone is watching us. . . .”
“What?” exclaimed Menace. “Who, Father? Who would dare?”
“Who indeed.” Titan paced closer, his muzzle lowering to his cub’s, his black eyes intensely brilliant as they stared into hers. “Someone who is afraid . . .”
Thorn jerked himself violently from Menace’s head. There was no time to leap from animal to animal; all he could do was let himself be snapped back through space with dizzying speed, and when he collided with his own body, he almost fainted. Staggering, he caught hold of Nut’s arm and swayed, the ravine spinning around him.
Nut and Mud caught him, propping him upright, and peered at him with alarm.
“Thorn, what? What happened?” demanded Nut.
Thorn couldn’t speak. How could he see me? How? Was it one of the spirits Titan had devoured—a vulture, perhaps? He could have killed Windrider and taken her heart, and I don’t think I’d know it.
He realized he was gasping for breath. Thorn raised his eyes to those of his friends.
“Titan does have plans,” he panted. “A Great Gathering—but something will happen there, something terrible. I don’t know. I couldn’t stay longer, he—”
“Thorn!” A trumpet of greeting sounded from the rim of the ravine, and he jerked his head around, startled.
An elephant gazed down at him, her ears flapping forward, her eyes warm with pleasure. “Sky Strider,” he called, his voice shaky.
Behind her stood her dark-hided life-mate, Rock, and at her feet were the young cheetahs Nimble and Lively.
Weakly, Thorn gestured toward the northern end of the ravine. “There’s a way down there,” he called. “You and Rock can negotiate the path, I think.”
“Spider will help them find the way,” said Spider eagerly, and scuttled off to meet the elephants. The cheetah cubs simply bounded and leaped down the sides of the ravine, sure-footed and confident.
Nimble and Lively had already sniffed thoroughly at Nut and Mud and Thorn, had grown bored, and had withdrawn for a half-hearted play-fight by the time Spider led the elephants along the shallow stony track from the north end. Sky raised her trunk in greeting to the other three baboons.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Great Father,” she told Thorn softly, as Rock nodded to Nut and Mud. “We feared for a time that you were dead!”
“I should be.” Thorn felt his heart sink with grief again. “It was meant to be me, Sky: I was supposed to die. Not Berry.”
“Oh, Thorn.” Sky curled her trunk around his shoulders and embraced him closely. “I’m so sorry. I know—we all know—how much she meant to you.”
For a moment they hugged, not speaking, wrapped in their shared sadness. Then Thorn drew away, his solemn stare fixed on Sky.
“I will never stop grieving her,” he said quietly. “But all I can do now is avenge her and undo the harm that has come to Bravelands. She tried to stop it, and I owe it to her to go on fighting. Or die trying.”
“You won’t die,” said Sky fiercely. “With the help of the Great Spirit we’ll defeat this evil, Thorn.”
“It won’t be easy,” he murmured, feeling a ripple of dread chill his heart. “I’ve seen a little of what Titan wants to do.”
“Thorn used his powers,” Mud put in proudly.
“That can’t have been easy,” remarked Rock, and Sky nodded in agreement.
“It wasn’t,” admitted Thorn, “and I wish I didn’t know. Because I don’t know enough. All that’s clear is that Titan expects us to call a Great Gathering—and that will be his opportunity to move.”
“Then you can’t call one,” said Sky decisively. “Doing what Titan wants must be a bad idea.”
“Maybe we don’t have to, Sky. I’ve had a little time to think about this, and I’m the only one of us who has seen something of his mind.” Thorn picked thoughtfully at a tick on his arm and frowned. “There’s huge power in him, but there’s madness, too, and he isn’t thinking clearly or well. He’s overconfident.”
“He’s got a right to be, by the sound of it,” remarked Nut.
“But I think we can use that cockiness against him,” said Thorn firmly. “Sky—I think we should call a Great Gathering. We can make it a trap for Titan—a counter-ambush; force him to show his schemes.”
Sky swung her trunk in agitation. She cast a desperate look at Rock, then stared back at Thorn. “You’re the Great Father, and I trust your wisdom, Thorn. But if a Great Gathering is exactly what Titan wants, why should we give it to him?”
“I have a plan,” said Thorn, “or the beginnings of one. Berry made Titan believe she was the Great Parent, but he will know soon that he was tricked. We must spread the word that I am afraid to show my face, that I’ve fled Bravelands altogether. Then we call a Gathering, to announce a new Great Parent. . . .”
“And then what?” said Nut, throwing up his paws. “You’ll fight him in a duel?”
“Not exactly,” said Thorn. “There might be another way.” The baboons looked unsure. “You must trust me. Trust the Great Spirit.”
“Nimble and Lively can help carry the news of your cowardice,” said Sky, her voice brimming with eagerness. The two young cheetahs raised their heads expectantly, their eyes lighting up. “They can move very quickly, can’t you, cubs? And they can go almost undetected. They’ll be good messengers.”
“Sounds fun,” said Nimble, trotting up to her.
Thorn felt possessed by a new sense of purpose. Shaking aside the grief, he bounded up onto a rock and craned his head back to gaze into the sky. There were dark flecks wheeling there, a whole flock of starlings; and two bee-eaters zipped busily across the mouth of the ravine.
Urgently Thorn clapped his paws together and let out a high-pitched hoot of summons. The others watched, fascinated, as he called over and over to the birds. They didn’t know what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. It was the starlings and the bee-eaters who had to understand him.
“Feather-flash, blue-streaks, whistlers!” he whooped, clear and loud. “Come, wind-soarers, sharp-wings! I summon you!”
The birds’ response was instant; they circled and dived, and the distant spatter of dots in the sky swooped down so fast, they were a sudden riot of wings around Thorn. He heard gasps and cries of astonishment from Mud, Nut, and Spider, but he focused only on the birds.
Thorn could feel the light breath of their wingbeats against his fur. The bee-eaters darted to him through the cloud of starlings, like tiny colorful lightning bolts, yet not one bird so much as touched a wingtip to another’s. Now Thorn could barely make out his friends; he was surrounded by beating feathers and color and fast darting movement.
“Thorn Greatfather! Thorn Greatfather! What do you need? Just ask!”
“My friends, Bravelands faces great peril,” said Thorn. “All creatures must come together. Go now, fly hard and far—tell those who tread the ground that they must come to the watering hole by the light of tomorrow’s dawn.”
“A Great Gathering! A Great Gathering!” The cry resounded from bird to bird, and as they spiraled up into the blue arc of sky, Thorn was left alone again, craning up on a white rock to watch them fly out of sight.
Nut, Mud, and Spider hurried back to his side, and the elephants flapped their ears in excitement. Thorn turned to them all, hope blazing aside him. At least we are doing something, he thought.
He rose up onto his hind paws, peeled back his muzzle, and whooped out a battle cry.
“My friends. It’s time to take the fight to Titan!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The grass was tall, and sunlight sparkled through it, dappling Swiftcub’s vision. He blinked and batted a paw at
a grasshopper, but it sprang away; unconcerned, Swiftcub bounded to catch up with his fathers. Gallant and Loyal padded side by side, the sun making their coats glow golden. Swiftcub gamboled between the two grown lions, and they both smiled down at him before returning to their conversation.
Swiftcub lifted his head and tail and pranced along, imagining how it must feel to be so big. One day he’d be just like them, he knew it: a tawny-maned pride leader, strong and magnificent. Why, he was almost that now. Setting his jaw, he picked up his pace, keeping up with his fathers.
But their legs were so long, their haunches so powerful. Maybe they didn’t mean to, but they were speeding up, drawing away. Panting, Swiftcub trotted faster and then began to run, his short legs aching with the effort. Stop, he wanted to shout. Stop, wait for me!
But the words wouldn’t come, and Gallant and Loyal became more distant. Their silhouettes shrank into the wobbling heat haze, and Swiftcub could not keep up, no matter how fast his small paws pounded. The two lions dwindled to golden smears on the horizon, and then they vanished.
Fearless woke with a start. An old ache of grief tugged at his heart, and he shook his head to dislodge the last traces of the dream. What did it mean?
Around him sprawled the Mightypride lions, their muzzles still bloody, their coats already sleeker in the dawn light. A lioness swatted lazily at the flies that swarmed her red-stained face; Fearless remembered her in the night, shoving her head into an antelope’s belly, right down to her ears. Resolute rolled over and gave a grunting yawn of satisfaction. Three cubs lay in a haphazard pile of contentment, their flanks distended with meat.
The hunts Fearless had organized had been more than successful: a zebra and two gazelles had been brought down. There were no more growls of hostility from Mightypride; they and the Fearlesspride lions lounged together in the shade, so fully fed they were barely capable of moving. The Valorcubs suckled noisily at their mother’s belly, and Mighty watched them with sleepy satisfaction.
“I dreamed I was a cub again,” Fearless murmured.
