by Erin Hunter
“I don’t mind,” insisted Thorn. “And if I go now, I can be back at the nest—”
“No,” said Mud, catching his shoulder. “It took us long enough to get this egg. And anyway, look.” He pointed at the sun, which was dipping ever lower through the trees. “It’s too late, Thorn. I’ve failed this Feat.”
Thorn knew he was right. It was bitterly disappointing. If it weren’t for Nut, they would both be bounding back to Tall Trees as Lowleaves. But Mud’s triumph had been snatched away, and the rules forbade the baboons from ever trying a Feat again.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” said Thorn. “You’re my best friend.”
“That won’t happen!” Mud put his paw on Thorn’s shoulder and crooned reassuringly. “We’ve still got two more Feats to go, haven’t we? If I pass them, at least I’ll be a Middleleaf.” Poor Mud. The Second and Third Feats were even more demanding, and he didn’t sound any more convinced he’d manage than Thorn was. They both knew that stealing the bird’s egg had been Mud’s best chance of success. With a heavy sigh, Thorn hugged his friend. “Just wait, when I get hold of Nut—”
Mud shook his head again, more emphatically. “No, don’t get yourself in any trouble. It won’t help. And Nut won’t get any satisfaction from this anyway. He knows he didn’t really earn that egg.”
I don’t think that matters to Nut, thought Thorn, as the two friends made their way back toward Tall Trees. But if believing it is any consolation to Mud, I’m not going to tell him differently.
The two baboons padded back to the small forest that had been the troop’s base for the last few seasons. It was a prized camp, cool and green and lush, the envy of the other baboons and monkeys of Bravelands; the high trees gave shelter and protection, and now that the rains had begun they were heavy with desert dates, figs, and jackfruit. The treasure of the Brightforest camp was the mango tree that had somehow seeded itself among the others; their leader, Bark Crownleaf, was strictly fair in sharing out its sweet-scented gold fruit.
The Brightforest Troop was busy relaxing as Thorn and Mud returned. Mothers nursed their new babies; youngsters chewed on figs; pairs of baboons groomed one another. Thorn felt some of his anger fade away as he watched his big family. It was hard to hold on to resentment when the troop looked so contented and at peace.
“I’d better say hello to Mother,” Mud told him. There was trepidation in the small baboon’s voice, and Thorn watched his friend anxiously as he bounded across to where she sat beneath the mango tree. As the Starleaf, Mud’s mother was high-ranking in the troop, with vital skills in reading the stars, the clouds, and the flight path of birds—any sign, in fact, that was sent by the Great Spirit in the sky. Thorn knew she had ambitions for Mud to follow in her footsteps. But he’d have to become a Highleaf first, he thought sadly, and now that’s not going to happen. Poor Mud. Well, maybe the signs told the Starleaf that he’d return without an egg. She might be expecting it.
Mud was speaking to the Starleaf quietly, but she wasn’t saying much in return, just sitting very still and shaking her white-streaked head.
I wish she’d hide her disappointment better. All Mud needs is a bit of confidence.
Sighing, Thorn turned away and went in search of Stinger. The big baboon wasn’t hard to spot; he was crouched in the center of a small clearing, surrounded by a fascinated cluster of little baboons. Best of all, Berry Highleaf was sitting nearby. The sunlight picked out golden strands among her fur, and her large brown eyes shone as she watched her father teach the youngsters.
“See how I’ve made a trap for it with these twigs?” Stinger was explaining. “That means it can’t get at me.”
He’s showing them how to catch a scorpion, realized Thorn, spotting the scuttling brown shape between the twigs. He remembered fondly when Stinger had taught the same trick to him. Every small baboon thinks he’ll learn to do it even better than Stinger, he thought with amusement. And no baboon ever quite manages.
Berry hadn’t spotted him yet. She was following her father’s every move, adoration on her kind, sweet-tempered face.
I’m going to surprise her, he decided. Wait until she hears I’ve completed a Feat! Holding his egg carefully behind his back, he padded over to her side.
“Thorn!” Her eyes lit up, sparkling in the filtered sunlight.
“Hello, Berry,” he said, wishing he had the nerve to groom her shoulder. “Scorpions again?”
She laughed. “My father’s quite determined that the troop’s going to live on them one day. Just because he loves them. I’d sooner have a mango anytime!”
“He’s a very good teacher, though,” said Thorn, settling down on his haunches to watch.
Stinger brought down a twig, lightning fast, trapping the furious scorpion beneath it. “Like this. See?” He seized it by the tail, avoiding the sting, and squashed it with his other paw. “There. It never got a chance to sting me.”
There were gasps of awe from the young baboons. “I want to try, Stinger!” squealed one.
“We’ll have to find another scorpion first.” Stinger laughed, the scar above his nose wrinkling.
“Aren’t you scared?” asked a small female shyly.
“Course not. How do you think I got my name?” Stinger flicked the dead scorpion with a claw. “It’s because I love scorpions so much!”
“Do they really taste good?” The littlest male made a slightly skeptical face.
“Delicious!” declared Stinger. “The fresher the better!” He pulled off the scorpion’s tail and dropped it on the ground. “There, that’s where its venom is, so you need to throw the tail away. You can eat the rest of it, though. Here.” He pulled the scorpion into small pieces and handed them to the youngsters.
As they nibbled uncertainly, then gulped them down with exclamations of delight, Stinger turned to Thorn. “Hello, Thorn! How did it go?”
Now was his moment. Thorn returned Stinger’s grin, but he couldn’t help looking at Berry as he pulled the egg from behind him. She gasped in delight; then she touched his arm gently and smiled.
“Thorn!” she gasped, her wide brown eyes full of happiness. “Well done!”
“You’ve stolen yourself an egg!” exclaimed her father.
Thorn nodded, pleased. “Yes, Stinger.”
“Congratulations, Thorn Lowleaf!”
“This is such good news,” agreed Berry, gazing at him with joy. “Congratulations, Thorn!”
Thorn felt tongue-tied. Besides—especially in front of Stinger—what could he say? Baboons were forbidden to take a mate from outside their own rank. Thorn restricted himself to a nod and a shy smile.
Stinger took the egg from him and turned it in his paws, studying it. “This is very fine, Thorn. These buzzards are watchful and sharp-eyed! It took skill and patience to get its egg.”
Thorn glowed with pride. Such praise from Stinger, the cleverest baboon in the troop, made his heart sing.
“Should I take it to show Beetle?” he asked. Beetle was a member of the Council of fourteen Highleaves who helped advise Bark Crownleaf on running the troop. He was responsible for overseeing the Three Feats.
Stinger waved an airy paw. “No need; I’m on the Council, so I can confirm to Beetle you’re now a Lowleaf.” He handed Thorn back the egg. “Keep this up and you might even complete all Three Feats, as Berry did.” He flashed an adoring grin at his daughter.
“I wish I was as talented as Berry,” muttered Thorn, thrilled but embarrassed. As Stinger turned away to ask the little baboons how they liked their pieces of scorpion, Thorn shot a glance at her. His heart felt warm and huge inside him. Impulsively, he put the egg into Berry’s paws. “I want you to have this,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Why, thank you, Thorn!” The delight in her eyes was all the reward he needed. He was still smiling a little stupidly at her, speechless, when he felt a massive paw strike his back, knocking him onto the ground.
He rolled over, staring up into gaping jaws. Sunlight glinte
d on long fangs and cast over him the shadow of a powerfully muscled creature.
Thorn gave a shrill yelp as he scrambled back up.
“Fearless! Watch those clumsy great paws of yours!”
The big lion cub roared happily, right in his face.
“You got your egg!” he exclaimed, licking Thorn until he staggered. “I want to hear all about it!”
CHAPTER 4
Fearless gnawed desperately at the rotten log between his paws, sticking his tongue deep under the peeling bark. I’m hungry. I know it’s ungrateful but I can’t help it. I’m always hungry. He felt another few termites stick to it, so he lashed his tongue back into his jaws and chomped noisily, pretending they were a mouthful of antelope.
Oh, antelope . . . I still remember you, antelope. . . . You were so delicious and meaty and big. . . .
Mice and birds were tasty enough, but they were the most substantial prey he’d eaten in ages, and they didn’t fill the belly of a growing lion. He thought with aching longing of zebra-flesh. Mother and the other lionesses used to bring us zebra. And wildebeest. And bushbuck . . .
He mustn’t think too much about it, and not only because he missed the taste of warm, chunky meat. Thinking of his family sent a wrench of pain through his gut.
I’m one of Brightforest Troop now. They are my family. He knew how lucky he was that Stinger had found him and rescued him, and how kind the other baboons had been to let him stay. That was down to Stinger, too: with his charm and tact and clever words—and the backup of the kindly Starleaf—Stinger had talked his whole troop around.
Some of them might have had second thoughts, but Fearless had been one of the troop ever since, and they could hardly kill him and eat him now. I need to feel more thankful, I know. I might have had no family at all, now. I might have been dead.
It’s just . . . zebra . . .
Fearless gave a deep sigh.
“Hey, Fearless!” Berry, Stinger’s gentle daughter, loped toward him. “I’ll show you a better way. Look.” Taking a twig, she sat down beside him and began to poke at the log. Her gold-speckled brow furrowed in concentration, then she brightened as she pulled the stick back out. Its whole length was clogged with termites. “There!”
“Thanks, Berry.” Fearless dutifully licked the termites from the twig. “The trouble is, I don’t have paws like yours.” He raised one dolefully, showing the pads. “I can’t pick up a stick myself.”
“Maybe you could use your claws to grip it?” she suggested. “You do have very long claws. . . .”
That didn’t sound like a bad idea, but before Fearless could try Berry’s suggestion, Stinger bounded to his daughter’s side and greeted him cheerfully. “Fearless! I need you to come to the Council meeting with me.”
Fearless sat up on his haunches at once. “Of course, Stinger.” The Council that advised the Crownleaf was made up of the fourteen eldest Highleaves of the troop, and each of them was allowed to choose a retinue—a small group of baboons, selected from any rank, who would help them carry out their Council duties. Highleaves usually picked out baboons they thought had a glowing future, so Fearless was proud to be one of Stinger’s retinue; he knew it was a great privilege, especially since it let him attend Council meetings to watch and listen. More than almost anything else, it was this that made Fearless feel he belonged in Brightforest Troop.
Getting to his paws, he said good-bye to Berry and followed Stinger to the place where the Council sat: an almost circular clearing beneath the tallest acacia of the grove. Vines and ferns hung thickly from the surrounding trees, giving the glade privacy as well as an atmosphere of solemnity and shadow. Right in the center of the clearing was a huge, smooth-topped boulder: the Crown Stone. On it sat a big, grave-faced baboon, waiting in silence for the fourteen councilors to gather. Dappled sunlight played on her brown fur, shifting with the movement of the foliage above her. Her eyes were deep-set, solemn, and wise. Fearless dipped his head in respect to Bark Crownleaf, head of the troop.
Stinger and the other councilors settled in a circle around the Crown Stone, their retinues sitting behind them. Fearless crouched beside the two young baboons who also served Stinger—Grass Middleleaf, who was tall and always chewing on a stalk, and Fly Lowleaf, who was slight but fast. An ant crawled up Fearless’s leg, and Fly’s front paw shot out to grab it. He swallowed it and grinned at Fearless, revealing chipped teeth.
The peaceful birdsong of the glade was interrupted abruptly by Grub Highleaf, the baboon with small yellow eyes and thin lips who had been keenest to kill Fearless when he was a cub.
“What’s he doing here?” Grub complained. “Do you really have to bring your lion, Stinger? Do you think he’ll get you your way in the Council?”
Stinger drew himself up onto his hind legs, curling his lip in offense. “This is Fearless, Cub of the Stars,” he exclaimed. “He’s one of our troop, Grub, as well as a member of my retinue, and don’t you forget it.”
“Council!” Bark Crownleaf stood up on the Crown Stone, and Stinger respectfully dropped back onto all fours. “We are not here to discuss Fearless’s place in the troop.” She stared at Grub until he lowered his eyes, grumbling. “And I am not interested in revisiting old arguments. We have come together to discuss moving Brightforest Troop to a new settlement.”
The wizened figure of Beetle Highleaf rose. “It is a weighty question, Bark Crownleaf. We have kept our base here in Tall Trees for an unusually long time, but to move from here would be a drastic decision. The fruits are plentiful, the creek provides water, and the trees give us good shelter. There is room for all.”
“Indeed,” mused Bark. “But such abundance does not last forever. The dry season will return as it always does; and it is not natural for baboons to stay in one place for so long. We are nomads and wanderers, Beetle Highleaf, and at some point we will have to leave here. Best to discuss it now, before it becomes urgent.”
“Frankly,” muttered Grub, “the movements of the troop are not the lion’s concern.”
“Grub, that’s enough.” Bark gave him a reproving glance.
“Well, Bark,” murmured Mango, clearing her throat, “I think Grub has a point, actually.”
Branch Highleaf pursed his thin lips. “Me too,” he muttered. There were more sounds of agreement from around the Council Glade. Grass stopped chewing and shot Fearless a sympathetic glance.
Bark hesitated, seeming about to speak, then closed her mouth and gave a slow, regretful nod. Stinger coughed tactfully and turned to Fearless.
“Perhaps, then, the Cub of the Stars could leave us, this time,” he said. He blinked apologetically at Fearless. “It might make our discussions run more smoothly. Would you mind, my friend?”
Fearless shot a quick look around the glade, but no baboon stood up in his defense. One of Grub’s retinue, smirking, whispered something to his neighbor that made the other baboon snort with laughter.
Embarrassed, Fearless gave a rapid nod. “Of course, Stinger. No, I don’t mind, not at all. I’ll, er . . . leave you all to it.”
“Bad luck,” muttered Fly.
Fearless backed up a few paces, then turned and left the glade with as much dignity as he could muster.
He felt the stares of the councilors and their retinues on his rump, and was glad when he was out of sight among the trees. The trouble is, I do mind, he thought sadly. I understand why Stinger said it. And I’m happy living here with Brightforest Troop.
I just wish they all accepted me the way Stinger does.
He’d just have to prove himself, that was all. Fearless picked up his paws, trying to feel more confident. I’m a good guard for the troop, Stinger said so. No animal dares to mess with Brightforest Troop while I’m around.
Among Stinger’s responsibilities as councilor was to keep the troop secure, and Fearless helped him with this. He patrolled the boundary, watched for threats, defended his friends, and deterred their enemies. “You’re the troop’s protector,” Stinger had told
him, and Fearless still remembered the glow of pride he’d felt at these words. It was an important job, and he did it well—better than any baboon could. Surely that made him indispensable?
As he padded toward the Tall Trees boundary, he heard a yelp of greeting.
“Hey, Fearless!”
He flicked his ears forward. Thorn was scampering toward him, Mud at his side as usual. At the sight of his best friends, Fearless’s spirits lifted, the Council meeting forgotten.
When the troop had brought their Cub of the Stars back to Tall Trees, the kind Starleaf had introduced him straight away to her son. Mud had taken to Fearless immediately and had become the cub’s staunch friend and defender—which might not have meant much practically, given Mud’s size, but Mud had also introduced him to Thorn. And Thorn, completely loyal to Mud, had befriended Fearless wholeheartedly and without hesitation.
Fearless growled in cheerful greeting. “Thorn! Mud! I’m going to patrol the camp.”
“Then we’ll come with you. Right, Mud?”
Mud nodded eagerly, and Fearless crouched down to let his friends scramble up onto his back. His mood lightened instantly; it was hard to be gloomy in the young baboons’ company. But he had to stay focused on the patrol too.
“The next Feat is coming up,” chattered Mud. “Crossing the Crocodile River!”
“We’ve been wondering how we’re going to do it,” said Thorn, idly grooming Fearless’s neck as he rode along. “You can help us work it out, Fearless.”
“I will,” Fearless promised. “We’ll find a way, but . . .” An idea struck him. “Hey! Why don’t I try the Three Feats too?”
He looked over his shoulder to see the two baboons exchange a surprised glance.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said Mud, though he sounded doubtful. “The rules say you have to be six to take part, though.”
Fearless tossed his head. “That’s in five years’ time! I can’t wait that long—and anyway, I’m a lion. I’ll be fully grown when I’m three. No, I’m going to do the Three Feats now.”
