by Erin Hunter
The new surge of rage seemed to come from nowhere. It was as if the black fires of vengeance had died down abruptly, and new flames of loyalty and love roared up in Fearless’s heart. He coiled his muscles.
“You. Will. Not!”
He sprang at Titan, colliding with him head-on. The black-maned lion seemed taken by surprise for once, stumbling backward. Together, they fell from the ledge and crashed to the ground beneath.
Sparks flew up with the impact of their bodies; ash and embers swirled around them both. Tiny thorn-pricks of hot pain burned Fearless’s fur, but they seemed like nothing.
Titan, though, was jumping and shaking himself, trying to dislodge the small cinders. His muzzle curling back in hatred, Fearless lunged again.
He knocked Titan clear of the charred fire remnants in another shower of sparks. Grappling together, the two lions rolled and kicked, careering into elephant skeletons. The smallest bones cracked and snapped beneath their struggling bodies, while the larger ones rattled as they scattered.
Titan wriggled free again and staggered between broken elephant ribs. For the first time, he looked disoriented. Fearless jumped after him. Titan swung his haunches around for a counterattack, but he tripped over an exposed thighbone.
He snarled in shock, tumbling clumsily, and Fearless fell on him, snapping wildly.
He could barely see, but he could feel his teeth sink through fur and into flesh, lodging on something hard. Bone. Fearless summoned all his strength and ground his jaws together.
Titan’s shriek of pain was like the howling of a mass of hyenas. Blinking away the blood, Fearless saw that his fangs had closed tight, in the meat of Titan’s foreleg.
Twisting, Titan lashed and scraped with a hind leg, the claws catching Fearless’s face again. Fearless knew he could not hold on forever, but he did it for as long as he could, feeling sinew and muscle rip and come apart as Titan squirmed free.
Titan leaped up, his eyes burning with rage. But immediately he swayed and tumbled forward and sideways.
The huge lion clambered to his paws again, but this time he stood on three legs. His mangled foreleg hung useless before him.
Panting, the two lions faced each other. Fearless licked dark blood from his muzzle and blinked.
I’m weak. I’m injured. But now, so is he.
“Remember that day we met, Fearless?”
Fearless growled, low in his throat. “You know I do.”
“I killed your father before your eyes. And I watched those eyes of yours. I did.” Slowly and meaningfully, Titan licked his bloodied jaws. “You have the same look in them now. Your mother misnamed you, didn’t she? Fearless, indeed! You’re terrified.”
“Yes.” Fearless gave an exhausted nod. He raised his eyes to Titan’s, feeling the Great Spirit’s anger pulsate in his blood. “But you feel no fear, even now. You never have. And that, Titan . . . that is why you will die.”
Titan began to pace toward him, picking up speed. Fearless rushed to meet him. As the Spirit of Bravelands flooded his body, thundering through his veins, filling his muscles with a power that obliterated all the pain, he leaped high to meet Titan’s attack in midair. The sky and earth of Bravelands trembled as Fearless and his enemy collided in a chaos of fang and claw and blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the wake of the far-off roars and growls, the tumble of rocks, the echoing rattle of bones, and the crash of bodies, the silence that fell was almost unbearable. Rising onto his hind paws, Thorn twisted his fingers together. All he could hear was the frightened breathing of his companions and the thump of his own heart.
He turned to Nut, whose eyes were staring and anxious; he had bitten blood from his lip. Mud trembled. Even Spider stood very still and quiet as his lizard scuttled from one shoulder to the other.
A couple of elephants shifted their feet. Sky’s ears flapped forward, and she raised her trunk to scent the burned air. Rock moved closer against her.
From the hushed Fearlesspride, one lion padded forward. Keen bent his head to Thorn.
“Please,” he began. “Great Father. Tell me if he lives.”
Thorn drew a breath, hesitating. Do I want to see? What if—
He shook himself. “All right.”
Thorn closed his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he let his mind reach out across the plateau. Here was an injured wolf: It’s all over for us. Flee, flee, there is nothing for us here. Where is my pack? My pack . . .
As the thoughts faded to nothing and blackness, Thorn hurriedly slipped out. He crept farther, feeling the stunted grass, the rocks, the smooth bleached bones. The landscape had no mind, no consciousness to inhabit, but still he felt it.
But of the two lions, Thorn could find no trace. He reached further, desperate, seeking out Fearless, but he could not locate him.
There was one lion; he felt her, a smaller creature than the ones he sought. With a great sigh, he eased back into his own mind.
“Menace,” he said.
She was crawling toward them, dragging herself by her claws. A shard of pale bone jutted from her hind leg, jolting as it dragged behind her. Ignoring the lions, the elephants, and the baboons, she fixed her agonized eyes on the entrance to the Plain and crawled toward it with her horrible encumbrance.
“Menace! Sister!” Ruthless bounded up to her, trying to nuzzle at her face.
He flinched back as she turned her glare on him. “Get away from me. All of you!”
“What happened to Fearless?” Thorn ran to Ruthless’s side but stopped just out of reach of Menace’s bloodied teeth.
“How should I know?” she snarled. “And why would I care?”
They all watched her as she dragged herself painfully slowly through the gate and lurched down the trail.
“Ruthless,” began Thorn. “If you want to go after her—”
The young lion shook his head, slowly. “Leave her be,” he said softly. “My sister’s gone. For good.”
“She will die before she reaches the end of the grassland,” agreed Nut quietly.
They stared after her until all that remained of Menace’s presence was a thin trail of dark, sticky blood. Thorn knew his friend was right. If she didn’t perish from her wound, hyenas would finish the job without mercy.
Keen seemed to snap out of a trance. He spun and bounded a few paces back onto the Plain.
“Fearless!” he roared, his hoarse cry echoing from the rock walls. “Fearless!”
Thorn hurried to his side and laid a comforting paw on Keen’s shoulders. “We’ll find him,” he murmured. “We’ll go together.”
Sky walked beside them as Thorn and the young lion made their cautious way across the trampled and torn grass. Sky’s ears flapped, and Thorn’s too craned for sounds, for groans, for any rustle of a living thing. But there was nothing.
Titan could still be alive, Thorn thought. He could attack at any moment. But if Titan had survived, and Fearless was dead, then hope for Bravelands had died with him.
A curl of pale smoke shifted in a faint breeze, revealing something near the cliffs. Not a boulder, not an elephant skeleton. Creeping forward, Thorn found his pawsteps dragging.
It was the corpse of a lion. Its mane shivered a little in the movement of the air.
Keen came to a stop, and Thorn too halted altogether. If he took one more step, he knew he would fall. Sky strode past them both, her trunk swinging in distress.
Thorn stared at her as she touched the corpse with her trunk, then rolled it over. Sky raised her head and turned it toward him and Keen.
“It’s Titan,” she called.
Keen gave a hoarse cry of relief and bounded forward, Thorn at his heels. Together they stared down at the torn body of the tyrant.
Titan’s eyes were open, but they were blank and drained of life. His foreleg was mutilated, but it was the gaping wound in his throat that had killed him at last. Dark blood, barely clotting, dripped and trickled down to join a vast wet stain of it beneath his head and
black mane. Flies already buzzed around his corpse.
Thorn shuddered, torn by a mixture of horror and utter relief. Keen, though, showed no further interest in the lifeless corpse. He sprang away at speed.
“Fearless!” he cried.
Thorn gasped. Keen was racing toward another mounded shape in the grass, farther away in the shadow of the cliff. Together, Thorn and Sky turned their backs on Titan and bolted after Keen.
“Is he—” Thorn stumbled to a halt at Keen’s side.
“He’s alive,” croaked Keen.
Fearless’s flanks twitched, feebly, with shallow breaths. Thorn put his paws over his mouth to stifle a cry of distress. Blood coated his friend’s fur in great patches; where the fur was visible, it was spotted with smaller scorch marks. One of his eyes was stuck shut, clotted with more dark blood from a ragged gash on his forehead. A flap of skin had been ripped from his cheek and muzzle, exposing his fangs. His tail was severed almost through, and clumps of hair had been torn from his mane. They swirled and blew across the grass in the rising breeze.
Sky sucked in a breath. She reached out her quivering trunk and caressed his face with its tip. Keen licked gently at his friend’s torn muzzle.
Fearless’s eyelid flickered, and his good eye swiveled to find Keen.
“Fearless,” Keen whispered. “Fearless, you’re going to be fine. Stand up. Please, stand up.”
“It’s all right, Keen.” The whisper was barely audible.
“No, it’s not all right.” Keen licked his ear urgently, then pressed his face to his friend’s. “You have to get up. You can rest later. I know it hurts, but—”
“It doesn’t hurt,” rasped Fearless. “Not at all. Not anymore.”
“Fearless.” Keen’s mewl of distress was almost unbearable; Thorn wanted to put his paws over his ears, but he mustn’t. He could feel the hot grief already, building under his breastbone, ready to swell and swallow him up.
“Keen, don’t be sad. Thorn. Sky. I’m . . . glad to see you again.”
Thorn crouched by his head. He stroked Fearless’s mane, over and over again. “You fulfilled your oath, Fearless,” he croaked. “Titan’s gone. You did it.”
Keen seemed to give up at last. He lay down close against Fearless, pressing his head to his friend’s. He closed his eyes, giving a shuddering breath, and lay very still.
Thorn, too, closed his eyes. At last he found what he’d been searching for, and he realized suddenly why he hadn’t been able to locate it before. He’d been searching for a mind full of vengeance and bitterness and regret, and most of all anger.
But Fearless was none of those things. He was calm, and he’d told his friends the truth: it didn’t hurt. The pain was like a distant memory. He had done everything he was supposed to do, and that was a restful feeling. He didn’t remember when he’d felt such peace: a long time ago, perhaps when he’d curled against his mother as a cub?
Thorn reeled, lost in a memory not his own, but falling into it was not unsettling: it was calm, a deep well of peace. A lioness came padding to his side; her eyes, once scarred and blinded, were clear and bright. She nuzzled his wounded cheek, a gentle rumble of happiness in her throat.
“Well done, my Swiftcub. My Fearless. It’s time to sleep now.” Swift’s tongue came out to smooth his rumpled ear fur. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, Mother,” he murmured.
“Your father is proud.” She smiled, pressing her muzzle against his. “Both of them are.”
Thorn-Fearless twisted his head to find them. His fathers stood a little way away, side by side, watching him. Gallant grunted softly in greeting. Loyal gave Fearless a nod of pride. Then they both began to turn away.
Wait for me. . . .
The two great lions paused, looking back at him. He felt his mother’s tongue caress his cheek again.
“Of course they’re waiting, Fearless. This time, you can go with them.”
He could. Of course he could. The realization was like a dawn ray. It wasn’t as if he was in pain now. Rising swiftly to his paws, free of pain, he shook out his magnificent mane.
Fearless pressed his face to his mother’s, full of gratitude and love. She watched him fondly as he turned and set out on eager paws after Loyal and Gallant. Because he could keep up with them, now. Even though they were racing up thin air toward the stars, he could follow. He was going with them at last—
Thorn pulled free with a gasping sob.
“Thorn?” Keen’s head jerked up.
Thorn didn’t reply. He felt Sky’s trunk stroke his shoulder as he moved forward to place a paw against Fearless’s wounded chest.
No movement. No beat of a fierce and courageous heart. Squeezing his eyes tight shut, Thorn heard Keen’s tormented roar of misery.
Fearless was dead.
When he blinked his eyes open, the sky had darkened. Wasn’t it morning, then? Had the whole day passed as they mourned their friend?
Then Thorn realized what it was. Sky raised her head, too, and gazed at the vast flock of vultures that swept over the Plain.
Thorn felt a flash of pointless resentment. Not yet, not yet! Please, Windrider . . .
But she and her flock did not settle near Fearless’s body. They flew down to Titan, hopping and flapping till they had gathered in a black mass of wings around his corpse. As Thorn, Keen, and Sky stared, Windrider herself hopped forward to the thing that lay at the heart of their circle: the torn body of the lion.
She sank her long beak into the ragged wound on Titan’s throat, tugging free a strip of flesh. Throwing back her head, she gulped it down as her flock watched in silence.
Her head swiveled, and her black eyes met Thorn’s.
“The death is a good one,” she croaked in Skytongue. “Indeed, the best.”
He nodded to acknowledge her verdict. His voice trembling, he told her: “I will tell all the animals of Bravelands.”
Windrider turned back to her flock; not one of them had moved. Even now, they didn’t tear into Titan’s carcass, and Thorn frowned in puzzlement. They seemed to be watching Windrider, pausing for further commands.
“Wait,” was all she said.
Something stirred above Titan’s body: a ripple in the air. It trembled, and Thorn felt a vibration passing through him, as if thunder had cracked the sky nearby.
The smoke . . .
Trails and traces of it still lingered, but Thorn was sure the breeze and the early light were playing tricks on his eyes. The smoke coiled and parted and coalesced again, outlining the forms of . . . animals?
Yes, they were animals. A cheetah made of smoke and air bounded free of Titan’s body, sprinting toward the arc of the sky. On her heels came two buffalo, snorting puffs of white breath as substantial as they were themselves. They too thundered skyward.
And suddenly misty shapes were pouring from the lion’s lifeless corpse, a Great Herd made of shifting smoke. Thorn gaped, his heart pounding against his ribs. A young elephant, capering playfully as impalas and a rhino bounded past him. A splendid lion, his eyes glowing with the joy of freedom. A crocodile swam upward, as sleek and fast as if it were in unseen water. Zebras, a serval cat, and a leopard; a gerenuk, another cheetah; a cluster of warthogs who looked more cheerful than any Thorn had seen in life.
The vultures simply observed it all, still and silent. On they came, the spirits Titan had devoured: ostriches, a hippo, rats and ground squirrels and meerkats. The other animals watched, enrapt as Thorn.
“They’re free,” said Sky, her voice choked. “They’re going to the stars, as they were always meant to.”
“Fearless . . .” Keen cleared his throat and tried to say the name again. “Will—will Fearless go there?”
“He already has.” Thorn reached out a paw to touch the young lion’s mane, but he could not avert his eyes to look at him. He was searching the mist-formed host, the dead of Bravelands, hunting desperately for a familiar beautiful shape, the stump of a lost tail. She must be
with them. She’ll go to the stars now. Even if I don’t see her, I know she’s there.
High above them, the mist was dissipating, the shapes lost as smoke and spirits melted into the high streaks of cloud. Thorn blinked hard.
“Was she there? Was Berry with them?” he asked desperately.
“I didn’t see her,” said Sky gently. “But she was there. Be sure of that, Thorn.”
The vultures at last seemed ready to feast. They spread their wings, hopped into better positions, glanced hopefully at Windrider. She dipped her head.
But before they could tear into Titan’s carcass, there was a tremble of approaching feet. Boulder trotted up in a cloud of ash and dust, swinging his trunk irritably at the vultures, who squawked in offense. Even Windrider looked unsettled and cross.
“Not here,” he rumbled. He curled his long trunk around Titan’s hind leg and dragged him toward the plateau entrance. “Rot-eaters, you can feast outside.”
Thorn watched Boulder haul the tattered corpse to the entrance and fling it out onto the trail. The vultures rose in a flapping, squawking mass, then settled again beyond the boundary wall.
And that is the last I want to think about Titan. Thorn turned anxiously to Sky. “What about Fearless? Boulder won’t—”
“No,” Sky reassured him. “No elephant will ever disrespect Fearless’s remains. I promise you, Thorn, and Keen. He will rest here, on the Plain of Our Ancestors, until the sun touches his bones.”
“What?” Thorn took a sharp breath. “You mean it, Sky?”
“Of course I mean it. Fearless will always live in our memories.”
She turned to caress Keen’s bowed head, then touched Thorn’s face gently with her trunk-tip.
“So long as there are elephants, Fearless will have our respect and gratitude. His body will rest here with our blessing.” She smiled. “But his spirit will hunt among the stars.”
