by Erin Hunter
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Oh, don’t fuss, Blossom,” complained Thorn, tugging his paw away from the Goodleaf. “It’s nothing serious.”
The shadows of Dawntrees were a cool respite after the blazing heat of the high Plain of Our Ancestors. Baboons moved busily through the trees and bushes, repairing nests, collecting fruit, nursing infants. It all felt so beautifully normal, thought Sky, toying with a mango as she watched Thorn grouse at the Goodleaf.
“Great Father, you must rest and let me heal you.” Blossom’s dark eyes twinkled. “You are important to all of us, and it’s my job to keep you in good health. Isn’t that right, Sky Strider?” She smiled up at Sky, then scowled at the bite marks and scratches on Thorn’s chest, pressing more chewed leaves to them. “Ugh. The Crown Guard were vicious. And Menace might have been a small lion, but she was still a lion.”
“Blossom’s right, Thorn,” Sky agreed, amused. “Even a Great Father should behave himself for the Goodleaves.”
“You’ll be fine, Thorn,” added Blossom, patting his arm. “But you need to rest.” She glanced up at the branch of the kigelia tree above them. “What do you think, little Greenshoot? Would you like to become a Goodleaf when you’re older?”
Snuggled against his new mother, Scratcher, Greenshoot peered down in fascination. Scratcher stroked his little head gently. The old baboon still looked awed and astonished by her good fortune and her new baby. If there’s one good choice Creeper made, thought Sky, it was this one.
Thorn sighed, submitting at last to the Goodleaf’s attention. Maybe, thought Sky, they should just have let him complain and protest. Now that he was silent, Thorn’s eyes became distant and sad. He was still thinking about Fearless, she knew. It was hardly surprising. Reaching out with her trunk, she nuzzled his shoulder.
He sighed again and tipped his head back to stare up into the branches. “This tree,” he murmured. “You know it’s the very one where Stinger first found Fearless?”
“I’m not sure I did know that,” said Sky.
“His ‘Cub of the Stars.’” Thorn smiled sadly. “And now Fearless has gone back there.”
“I know how much you miss him,” she said softly. “I do, too.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him.” Thorn’s head drooped. “I can’t imagine life in Bravelands without him.”
Sky felt the weight of the grief as it churned again in her chest. “I know,” she whispered. “But Fearless wouldn’t want us to think that way, I’m sure of it. He died to defend Bravelands, and our lives here. He’d want us to enjoy those lives, Thorn—he bought them so dearly. And his legacy—that’s still with us. Fearlesspride follows the Great Spirit now.”
“Yes.” Thorn nodded. “And I’ll tell his story till I go and join him, Sky.” He gave her a rueful twist of his muzzle.
Sky dipped her head to curl her trunk around his shoulders. “It’s time for me to leave, Thorn. I wanted to see you and Dawntrees, but this is good-bye for now.”
“I knew this was coming.” He patted her trunk. “Go well, Sky. Be with your family.”
“May the Great Spirit watch over you, Thorn, and all your troop. I know it will.”
She turned and strode away more swiftly than she’d meant to; it was so hard to walk away from Thorn, but what she’d told him was true: it was time. Long past time.
Rock waited for her at the border of the forest, his dark hide mottled by sunlight. He raised his trunk in greeting, spreading his ears as she walked toward him. Her heart soared, as it always did at the sight of him; his green eyes were full of warmth . . . and a touch of regret.
“We go our separate ways now, Sky.”
“Yes.” She butted her head gently against his. “I wish I could stay with you forever, Rock. I’ll miss you.”
“It’s not the elephant way,” he murmured.
“I know. I accept that, now.” She gave a deep sigh. “It’s been long, long seasons since I followed the customs. Since Great Mother died, I’ve picked my own path.”
“That was right and good,” Rock assured her. “You were true to yourself—true to Bravelands and the Great Spirit. Great Mother would be so proud of you.”
Inside, Sky felt a warm thrill. She had done the right thing, however badly it conflicted with the traditions of her kind.
Rock twined his trunk with hers. “It won’t be as long as it seems,” he whispered. “I’ll see you again soon, Sky. On the Plain of Hearts.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on that deep green gaze, Sky drew slowly away. Her trunk slid through his, feeling the warmth of Rock’s touch till the last possible moment until they broke contact.
Then she backed away another step, turned, and walked away across the grassland. Comet and the other females and calves waited there in the hazy sunlight, their ears flapping eagerly, their trunks raised in welcome.
“Welcome, Sky.” Comet blew an affectionate breath at her shoulder.
“Sky!” blared Horizon. “I’m glad to have you on the trek.”
One by one, the females fell into file behind Comet, with calls of greeting to Sky and fleeting touches as they passed her. They nudged and encouraged the calves, who trotted by with wondering glances at Sky. One tiny calf stared so long, she almost tripped over her own feet. Laughing, her mother steadied her with her trunk.
“Yes, Acacia. That is the famous Sky Strider!”
Filled with renewed certainty, Sky joined the column beside her aunts and cousins. They are my family. I belong now. She was an ordinary elephant at last, walking with the female herd, caring for the youngsters, and obeying her matriarch. It felt right. It felt good. And in only a season, Rock would come to meet her on the Plain of Hearts.
“How does it feel, Sky?” murmured Horizon at her side. She smiled. “Isn’t it much more peaceful to be normal again?”
About to answer, Sky saw two lithe shadows dart between her feet. She hesitated, raising a foot to clear the way of the young cheetahs, Nimble and Lively.
“We’re going with the elephants!” chirped Nimble.
“Yay!” cried Lively. “We’re staying with Sky!”
The pair of them tumbled, rolled, and jumped up to dart forward through the tramping legs of the herd. Horizon burst out laughing, and Sky chuckled with her.
“Much more peaceful,” she told Horizon mischievously. “But maybe not entirely normal!”
EPILOGUE
Five years later
Far below Windrider, the golden plains of Bravelands shimmered in the sun’s heat. The air currents were warm on her black wings, the sky clear almost to the horizon, but she could see clouds building beyond it, towering masses of gray that must be unseen by the animals below. The rains were coming, and they would be good this season: Bravelands would be lush and green once more, and the herds would thrive; that meant in turn that the predators and the rot-eaters would fare just as well.
Angling her wings, she peered down harder, curious. On the yellow grassland by a winding silver river, two prides of lions faced each other down. The leaders stood face-to-face. A territorial dispute, she guessed. Perhaps that younger lion had chosen to challenge the larger one for this fine and open stretch of the savannah?
That was a misjudgment on his part, she thought. The young male had a fine mane, but even from this height, Windrider could see that he was clearly outmatched by the powerful older lion; this would not end well for him. Had the Great Spirit not given the youngster its guidance? Such foolishness would always end in a humiliating beating.
But her role was only to watch. Windrider circled lower, intrigued.
The youngster had nerve, she gave him that. He was prowling forward, judging his spring, baring his fangs in challenge. She felt a tug of amusement. He would learn his lesson—and swiftly, judging by the coiling muscles of his golden-maned opponent.
The challenger leaped, colliding in midair with his opponent. The two fell back to the ground, legs flailing, as they rolled and tussled in a clou
d of pale dust.
Strange that the older lion seemed to be holding back; it wasn’t like such a magnificent male to show mercy to a challenger. Fascinated, Windrider swooped even lower.
Not a drop of blood had been spilled. The lions snapped and bit and pummeled each other, but fangs did not sink into flesh, and the blows were delivered with claws sheathed. Ah, she thought, it’s only a play-fight. They are friends.
As they tired at last, the two lions flopped apart, panting. The dust settled around them; Windrider glided down to the earth at a decent distance. She knew them now: that pale mane on the younger one, the rangy frame of his senior. Ruthless Ruthlesspride and Keen Keenpride. Keen rolled over happily, paddling his long legs, and Ruthless butted his cheek and nuzzled him.
Windrider folded her wings and hunched her shoulders, watching. Each of the lions had a fine pride, with many lionesses and healthy-looking cubs. Her eyes had seen much in her long life; her heart was old and worn and tough, but still it warmed at the sight.
Through her talons, she felt the ground tremble. Windrider glanced to the side. A baby elephant was careering toward her: one moment shying away, then, overcome with curiosity, trotting closer. The elephant flapped her baby ears, then raised her trunk and blew a high-pitched trumpet of excitement. Windrider winced at the racket and narrowed her eyes, and the baby drummed her front feet as if to scare her.
Windrider held her ground. The little elephant might be many times her size, but it had been many, many years since she had been scared by a baby. She opened her beak, spread her wings, and squawked. The young elephant gave a startled squeal of fright and twisted her head to look for her mother.
A female elephant approached, looking unconcerned. “What are you up to, Moonbeam? Trying to scare a vulture?” She laughed.
“It’s trying to scare me,” said Moonbeam indignantly.
The mother laughed again. “Oh, I’m sure that isn’t even possible.” She caressed her baby’s head with her trunk. “Is it?”
“No way!” squealed Moonbeam, capering away.
Windrider’s gaze met the young mother’s. How happy Sky looks, she thought. She had grown into a fine elephant, her tusks long and creamy, and there was such a deep contentment in her eyes.
Windrider stretched her wings, hopped, and lurched skyward once again. Below, Sky was following her little calf back across the grassland to join the female herd that browsed in a cluster of acacias. So Comet is still their matriarch, thought Windrider, gazing at the magnificent old elephant who watched over the herd. But I don’t doubt Sky will take on that responsibility, one day.
She climbed a little higher, angling her broad wings. The sunlit expanse of Bravelands rushed beneath her, plain and river and kopje. A ravine’s shadow opened in the ground below, and she swooped down once more, finding Thorn crouched in the branches of a gnarled mango tree. Slowing her flight, she flapped down and perched close to him.
Thorn blinked his eyes open. “Thank you, Windrider, for letting me see through your eyes.” He smiled at her. “All is well in Bravelands, then. And Sky looks so happy. Her baby is beautiful.”
She dipped her head to him and took off without a word. He didn’t mind that. They had known each other so long now, he rarely needed to hear the old bird’s Skytongue.
He watched her as she circled up and up on the air currents, till she was no more than a black dot in the arc of the sky. The dazzle stung his eyes, so he turned back to the ground beneath the old tree, where Mud was tossing his stones.
His small friend’s fur was grizzled now, flecked with gray, but then so was Thorn’s. “What do the stones say, Mud?” he called.
Mud twisted to grin up at him. “Nothing alarming, Great Father. All is well. How does Bravelands look from above?”
“Just as the stones tell you, old friend.” Thorn smiled. “The long peace continues, thank the Great Spirit.”
“Hey, you two!” Nut bounded across the stones toward the mango tree. His movements were not as lithe and quick as they’d once been, but his scarred old face had a look of wisdom and nobility. It was a good trade, thought Thorn.
“The troop is all going to watch the first Three Feats challenge,” Nut went on, “back at Tall Trees, before sunset. You want to come?”
“I’ll watch.” Mud gathered up his stones. “What about you, Thorn?”
“I’ll follow shortly,” Thorn called down.
“Don’t be long,” growled Nut. “These youngsters need a lot of advice. Useless bunch, they are. Spider’s already trying to explain to them about eagle eggs, but will they listen? Not one of them would have made Middleleaf back in our day. Hmph!”
Thorn watched his two friends go with an inward smile. When the sound of their pawsteps had faded over the edge of the ravine, he began to clamber down through the twisted branches, tugging a ripe mango from one as he went. He cupped it carefully in one paw. The gully was a bad place for a mango tree to seed, but this one had survived, and it always managed to produce a few fruits in its season. Funnily enough, though the tree’s crop was small, its fruits were always especially big and sweet, as if to compensate for its harsh environment.
Jumping down, Thorn loped toward the old acacia farther up the slope. Placing his free paw against it, he pressed his forehead to the rough bark. How many seasons had it been now since he’d met Berry in the shade of these branches? Yet if he closed his eyes, it was as if he could still feel her presence. As if he would blink them open and see her there, waiting for him with glowing, excited eyes, close enough to touch her golden fur. Close enough to embrace her . . .
He scrambled up to the acacia’s lowest branch. There was a cleft in it; gently he placed the mango there, lodging it securely but carefully so that he wouldn’t bruise or break its red-gold skin. He leaned back against the trunk, gazing up toward the ravine’s rim. Beyond it lay Bravelands, at peace. It was a good thought.
“I wish you could be here, Berry,” he said aloud. “You’d be so happy. We both would, at last.”
He wouldn’t close his eyes, not this time. It hurt his heart too much when he opened them again to find her nearness was an illusion. Instead Thorn focused on the pale rocks where they’d hunted together for centipedes, on the blades of yellow grass stirred by the warm breeze at the ravine’s edge. It was so still here, so beautiful.
The breeze faded. A soft paw touched his. A head rested warm against his shoulder, and aching longing flooded his heart.
No, he must not turn to look; must not break the spell.
Better just to sit here, in the calmness of the Bravelands afternoon, until the dusk turned the sky to lilac.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ERIN HUNTER is inspired by a fascination with the ferocity of the natural world. As well as having great respect for nature in all its forms, Erin enjoys creating rich mythical explanations for animal behavior. She is also the author of the bestselling Warriors, Seekers, and Survivors series.
Visit her online at BravelandsBooks.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY ERIN HUNTER
Book One: Broken Pride
Book Two: Code of Honor
Book Three: Blood and Bone
Book Four: Shifting Shadows
Book Five: The Spirit-Eaters
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COPYRIGHT
BRAVELANDS: OATHKEEPER. Copyright © 2020 by Working Partners Limited. Series created by Working Partners Limited. Map art © 2020 by Virginia Allyn. Interior art © 2020 by Owen Richardson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, w
ithout the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2020 by Owen Richardson
Cover design by Alison Klapthor
Logo by David Coulson
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hunter, Erin, author.
Title: Oathkeeper / Erin Hunter.
Description: First edition. | New York : Harper, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, [2020] | Series: Bravelands ; [#6] | Audience: Ages 8-12. | Audience: Grades 4-6. | Summary: “With the balance of Bravelands at a breaking point, the Great Herd must risk everything to unite against their common enemy: the rogue lion, Titan”— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020008884 | ISBN 978-0-06-264222-6 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-0-06-264223-3 (library binding)
Subjects: CYAC: Baboons—Fiction. | Lion—Fiction. | Elephants—Fiction. | Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Africa—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.H916625 Oat 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020008884
* * *
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-264226-4
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-264222-6
2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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