by Erin Hunter
“What are you up to, Sky?” Rock looked apprehensive, his green eyes widening. “Sky, don’t—”
“It’s Boulder. My brother!” Without another word, Sky turned back and trotted toward the bull herd. One of them had broken away; he was cantering toward her, his ears tilted forward with joy.
“Sky!” he hollered. “Is that really you?”
“Boulder!” Sky picked up her feet, feeling lighter and suddenly far less tired. Her brother looked so well—and stars, he’d grown. She could tell even at a distance. He’d already been big when she knew him, but as he cantered toward her she could see that his chest was broader, his shoulders massive, and his tusks far longer than she’d remembered: long, near straight, and as pale white as drought-dust.
There was a single, sudden blare of anger from the bull herd. Taken aback, Sky jerked up her head. Behind Boulder, the other bulls were turning from the watering hole, raising their trunks in challenge as they glared past her. Her heart stuttered in frightened perplexity. Then, suddenly, the bulls were charging in Boulder’s wake, like a mob of gigantic starlings following a leader. In moments the bigger elephants were overtaking Sky’s brother, leaving him half obscured by billowing dust. One bull raised his trunk and gave another trumpet of fury, and more joined in.
The closer they came, the more intimidating they looked. The mood had changed distinctly, and now the air smelled powerfully of male aggression.
Rock had taken a step back, his tusks raised defensively, but it was too late. The bulls were circling them now, shaking their heads and flapping their vast ears, and Sky could hardly see for the grit in her eyes. She flinched from their bellowing voices.
“Traitor! How dare you return!”
“Get out of here, exile!”
“Rock! You murderer!”
Rock? What were they talking about? Sky spun around in shock.
One of the big bulls lowered his broad head and charged forward, taking three or four steps before halting and raking the ground with his huge foot. Rock flinched and swung around defensively as another bull did the same.
“Rock? Rock, what’s happening?” Sky twisted toward him, bewildered.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes were wide and frightened; it was such an unusual expression on his brave face, Sky felt her heart skip.
“Rock!” she demanded, desperate to get through to him.
“Sky, I . . .” His voice dried again, even though the racket of bellowing was fading. He gazed at her, pleading, but at that moment Boulder shoved through the press of gray bodies and stood before Sky, his eyes hard.
“Sky!” he rumbled. “What are you doing with this elephant?”
“His name is Rock!” Sky glared at Boulder; this was not how she had pictured their reunion. “He is my life-mate, brother!”
“He’s what?”
But Boulder’s exclamation was drowned out by the angry trumpeting of his herd-mates.
“No! That outcast?”
“He’s with your sister, Boulder? That cannot be!”
“He threatens your honor, Boulder, and ours!”
As their cries died away, Boulder swung his trunk, gazing at Sky with a look of profound sadness and regret. “Oh, Sky. You’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“What?” Sky sidled closer to Rock, glaring defiantly at her brother. She had faced down the matriarchs of her herd, had left them and set out on her own to be with Rock—and now this? “I don’t know what you mean, Boulder. And really, it’s none of your business!”
“It is, Sky, for one simple reason.” Boulder nodded at Rock, an expression of disgust twisting his lip. “Rock is exiled from our herd. We drove him out for breaking the Code. Tell her, Rock! Tell my sister the truth.”
“I . . .” Rock’s gaze darted to right and left, as if desperately seeking an escape.
“Rock, what’s this nonsense about?” Sky touched his shoulder with her trunk. “Why would they say such things? It’s a mistake. Explain to them how wrong they are!”
Boulder’s stare was unwavering. “Go on, Rock. Tell her why you were exiled. Tell her about River Marcher. Tell my sister that you’re a murderer!”
Sky gave a gasp of angry shock. River? Sky remembered meeting her many seasons ago, when they’d joined the Marcher herd on migration; she’d been older than Sky, a lightly built elephant with warm brown eyes. They’d all been sad to learn that River had died.
“River’s death was an accident. The Marchers told us she fell into a ravine,” Sky snapped at Boulder. “What can that possibly have to do with Rock?”
“It was no accident,” retorted Boulder. Despite his fury, Sky heard his voice crack. “Ask Rock!”
Sky turned to her life-mate, bewildered. He had swung his head to face her, but didn’t seem able to meet her gaze. “I can explain, Sky. I . . .”
“Since you’re having trouble, Rock, I’ll do it for you.” Boulder’s hard voice trembled. “I wanted River for my life-mate; Rock was my rival. Nothing wrong with that. You must know, Sky, that when a female cannot choose, it is the custom of bulls to fight in honorable combat for our mates. And River loved us both.”
Again Sky heard his voice break a little, but Boulder kept his implacable stare on Rock’s drooping head.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve heard such stories.”
“So fight we did, in the presence of River,” growled Boulder. “But perhaps Rock knew he was losing. Because he turned and shoved River over a ravine to her death.”
Sky’s heart lurched with a shock of pain. She looked from Rock to Boulder, and back again. She wanted to speak, but she could not find her voice.
She remembered her vision now—the one she’d seen when she first touched Rock, when the Great Spirit was still within her and had allowed her to read the living. She had seen Rock, running away from other elephants, running desperately, fleeing for his life.
Now she knew what the vision had meant. Because as she stared desperately at him, hoping against hope that he would deny everything, Rock simply lowered his gaze and studied the ground at his feet.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes,” said Boulder curtly. “Rock couldn’t have River, so he sent her tumbling to her death. Now do you see? Rock can never be your life-mate.”
Sky stood trembling, stunned.
Boulder touched her lightly with his trunk, then spun to face Rock. “Go, outcast,” he said harshly. “You cannot be with my sister. You don’t deserve her.”
Rock seemed to rally for a moment, taking a pace toward Sky, his eyes pleading. “Sky, please let me explain.”
“There’s nothing more to explain,” thundered Boulder. “Go!”
“Boulder, please.” Sky set her jaw firmly. “Please let me have a moment with Rock.”
“I don’t think—”
“I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Boulder.” Her voice was rough with emotion. “Let me speak to Rock now. In private.”
Boulder drew himself up to protest, then shook his head. “Very well.” He gave Rock a savage look as he withdrew a little distance with the other bulls.
Sky could feel their protective stares as she walked close to Rock; restlessly, the bulls milled and stamped, and now and again one would take a pace in her direction before halting. She ignored them.
“Rock,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “Did you really kill her?”
Lifting her head, she tried to meet his eyes, but he still wouldn’t look at her. He brushed his trunk-tip against the dry earth, over and over again, swaying.
“It’s true,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry. But Sky, your herd was right: it was an accident. I was—I had the Rage. I didn’t see her. I didn’t even know I’d touched her until . . . until it was too late.”
“The Rage?” Sky’s heart chilled. She’d heard of the terrible madness that could seize bull elephants, but it had never occurred to her that might include Rock.
“I can’t even explain
how it feels,” mumbled Rock. “The sheer overwhelming force . . . The Rage is a terrible thing, Sky.”
“But you, Rock? You wouldn’t fly into some wild, uncontrollable fury. You’re not like that. I won’t believe it!”
“You don’t understand,” he moaned. “It’s not me. It’s not something I want, Sky, it just happens. When I fought Boulder, all I could think of was fighting and kicking and stabbing and gouging. . . . I lost control of myself. I’m sorry.”
She stared at him. Her mouth was dry. “I don’t know you at all, do I?”
Rock reached for her with his trunk. “Yes, you do, please—”
“Rock.” She took a step back. Her heart twisted and wrenched inside her, like a branch torn by a hungry elephant. “Rock, I need time to think. I need to be on my own for a while.”
“Oh, Sky.” His voice rose in frantic remorse. “I swear by the Great Spirit I would never hurt you!” He reached for her again. “Please, let me stay with you. I can protect you—”
“That’s enough.” Boulder appeared, shoving his great body between them. He glared menacingly at Rock. “Get away from my sister, you thug.”
Rock tried to shoulder his way past the gathering bulls. “Sky, please—”
“I said go.” Swiveling, Boulder lashed his tusks at Rock, who started back.
The other bulls advanced, swinging their tusks in threat and flapping their huge ears. All Rock could do was back away, then turn at last and stumble across the plain, the blaring of the herd driving him farther and farther from Sky. Boulder remained at Sky’s side, overseeing this second exile with an expression of stern fury.
Sky watched Rock go, numb. Her heart was breaking somewhere inside her; she knew it, but somehow, for now, she couldn’t feel it.
The patter of tiny paws was audible in the awful silence, and Sky glanced down, still frozen with shock and grief. The two little cheetah cubs had at last grown bored and emerged from their hiding place, and now they bounded between Boulder’s legs, unintimidated and curious.
“Sky?” mewled Lively. “Sky, where is Rock going?”
“He’s got to go away, little one.” Sky’s voice rasped against her throat; it felt as if it didn’t belong to her, as if another elephant was speaking through her mouth.
“Why?” demanded Nimble. He took a couple of bounding paces, staring after Rock in dismay. “Why is he going?”
“Because he can’t be with us anymore,” said Sky in that same, strange, flat voice. I will feel this soon, I know that. But right now I feel nothing.
“But we liked him!” cried Lively. “Why does he have to go? Doesn’t he like us anymore? Sky! Bring him back!”
“I can’t, Lively. He has to leave.” And at last the emotion was released, flooding out of her heart and filling her body with an aching, suffocating pain. She whimpered, deep in her throat.
“Don’t worry, Sky.” Boulder’s deep voice was at her ear, and he laid his trunk comfortingly across her shoulders. “I and my brothers will protect you.”
She didn’t need protection, she thought, but she couldn’t speak. She could look after herself.
And I will have to.
Nimble and Lively were keening at her feet, mourning for Rock, calling him hopelessly back in their tiny, high cries. But Sky did not even have the strength to comfort them.
Her future was gone; she had thrown it away last night at the sacred waterfall. Elephant betrothals are binding for life.
She would never have a mate. She was bound to Rock now: bound to an elephant who had lied to her and betrayed her. She had left her family for him; Comet and her aunts had been right all along. She should have trusted them, trusted their ancient, well-honed instincts.
Her life-mate was gone. Sky would never see him again. And she no longer wanted to.
CHAPTER 20
The atmosphere in the Crown Stone glade was dense with hostility. Even the air Thorn breathed seemed sharp with it. There was a bloodlust that crackled from baboon to baboon, infecting them all with a savage, heightened rage. The Crown Stone guards stood in a circle, shoving and flinging the bewildered Spider between them, their faces twisted into snarls.
Thorn had felt this murderous strain in the air once before: when Brightforest Troop exiled Nut for the murder of Grub Crownleaf. Then, too, the bloodthirsty thrill had seemed contagious, each baboon inciting the others to higher and higher pitches of hatred.
And Nut had been innocent. Just as, he was certain, Spider was now.
Thorn sprang forward, pushing Grit aside, grabbing Creeper’s shoulders, and pulling the big baboon back. “Don’t!” he shouted. “Stop. You’ll kill him!”
“So what?” snarled Viper.
Thorn clenched his jaws and growled. “How can we question the wretch if he’s dead?”
That seemed to bring Viper up short. She narrowed her eyes and gave a slight nod, and the others calmed down too, grumbling.
Edging around Viper, Thorn bounded to Spider’s side and seized him, as roughly as he dared, by the arm. The fey baboon looked more disoriented than ever.
Thorn brought his jaws close to Spider’s head. “Pretend you don’t know me,” he growled quietly. “I’ll get you out of this mess.” He raised his voice to a ringing hoot of righteous anger. “You’ll answer to our Crownleaf, stranger!”
“Where is this intruder?”
Startled, the troop fell back, parting to make way for Berry Crownleaf. The baboons’ yells faded, their eyes widening with awe as she stalked through the mob, her brown eyes flashing with anger.
“Bring the enemy to me!”
Creeper and Grit seized Spider’s arms, yanking him from Thorn’s grip and marching him over to Berry. She stared at him coolly; but Thorn noticed that Spider didn’t seem particularly intimidated. He blinked up at her, his expression vague.
“Quiet, Dawntrees Troop!” Berry’s commanding voice rang across the glade, and the last mutters and growls died away. She stared at Spider once again. Berry seemed, thought Thorn, a little irritated at his lack of fear.
“What’s your name?” she demanded.
Spider chewed his lip. He glanced up at Creeper, and then at Grit, and scowled sulkily. “Spider is Spider.”
Berry looked taken aback. Then her jaw set firm. “Spider of what rank? What troop?”
“Spider Spider.” His singsong voice was distracted, and he kept glancing up at the trees as if looking for one of his bird-friends. “Spider No-Rank doesn’t have a troop.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Berry. “Every baboon has a rank and a troop!”
“Oh.” Spider looked surprised. He squeezed his eyes half shut as if he was considering the issue for the first time. “All right, then. Spider Prettyleaf from Cloudy Troop. No, Spider Hairyleaf from Puddle Troop. Wait a moment.” He tugged an arm free so that he could bite a nail and frown. “Ah! I am Spider Fluffyleaf from . . . Bugsquash Troop. That’s it!”
Berry was staring at him as if she couldn’t decide if he was insolent or simply mad. Mad, thought Thorn. He shut his eyes. Come on, Berry, he’s mad. Mad as a nest of beetles, surely you see that.
“There are no such troops!” she cried at last.
“No, I made them up.” Spider nodded in satisfaction. “I thought you wanted me to have a troop, so I made one.” He glanced around the troop, raising his brow as if expecting approval.
“Fool.” Berry clenched her teeth. “Then who were your parents?”
Spider tilted his head in thought. “Mother Earth and Father Sky.”
“How old are you?”
“Ooh, that is a hard one for Spider. To an ant, say: very old. To an elephant . . . well, young.”
Thorn stared at him. Didn’t Spider realize the trouble he was in? The troop was on the verge of killing him just to stop his nonsense, Thorn knew.
Then he thought: no, that’s the trouble. Spider had no idea how serious this was. He was giving the answers he thought Berry wanted.
“Enough of thi
s,” growled Viper. “What do you know about Pear Goodleaf? What have you done with her?”
Spider blinked. “Pear? Mm, pears are tasty.” A little apprehensively, he glanced at Viper for approval.
“This is a waste of time,” spat Creeper. “Berry, he’s obviously a spy for Tendril. We should kill him and be done.”
“Wait!” exclaimed Thorn, bounding forward a pace. He glowered at Spider. “You—what’s your name, Spider? Spider, listen very carefully, because your life depends on your answer. An older baboon, with streaky gold fur, a crease at one corner of her mouth. Have you seen her?”
Spider stared for a long, puzzled moment. Then, to Thorn’s relief, his eyes brightened.
“Old baboon, my my. I did see an old baboon. Very pleasant and polite, she was. Spider and her, we had a nice chat. About birds, it was. Birds and clouds and stars and crocodiles.”
Berry gave a shrill gasp. “You saw her?” She lunged to seize Spider’s chest fur in her claws. “Where is she? Where is my mother?”
Spider looked no more than mildly taken aback, though Berry’s trembling jaw almost touched his. “Walking that way.” He skittered his fingers in the air, miming a striding baboon, then pointed south. “Long, long way away.”
Releasing him, Berry stepped back and dropped to all fours, her stare still fixed on his innocent eyes. “South? Beyond the forest? That makes no sense.”
“All Pear’s herbs and plants grow out toward the grassland, on the west side,” said Grit. “Why would she go south?”
“And she wouldn’t need to go so far for her supplies,” added Viper. “She can’t be foraging.”
“Spider, think very carefully about your next answer,” gritted Berry through her clenched fangs. “Where is Tendril Crownleaf right now?”
“Tendril, Tendril, Spider knows no Tendril.” He shook his head vehemently. “But Spider can show you where the old baboon was. Before she went for a walk. Does that help?”
“I daresay it helps a bit,” muttered Berry.
“Enough to keep you alive for now, maybe.” Creeper picked his teeth sullenly. “Unless you’re just buying time to save your scabby hide?”
