by Erin Hunter
Fearless stared at his leader, speechless. Bark gave him a final consoling scratch and turned away, stalking off toward the rest of the troop. Fearless watched her go, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.
She’s wrong, he decided.
Maybe he’d belonged with lions when he was little, but that life was over, and his home was here now. What pride would ever have him? His place was with his friends—Thorn, and Mud, and Stinger. He could even put up with Nut.
I’m glad I saved them all from the hyena, but I mustn’t let my instincts take over again. That’s what made Bark say what she did—I let my lion side take over.
He set his jaws.
I’ll show her. I’ll prove I’m more of a baboon than any of them.
CHAPTER 5
Sky Strider peered out between the legs of two grown elephants. It was hard to see anything through the dust clouds, but she could catch glimpses of zebras and wildebeests stampeding in panic, hordes of them. The herds jostled and shoved, but the protective circle of adults stood firm, stamping, bellowing, and flapping their ears. Red dust flew up in the whirlwind created by their great feet and their snorting, swinging trunks.
Angling her ears forward, Sky frowned. She too spoke Grasstongue, but the sheer clamor of frightened voices made it hard to pick out any words. Then an outlying zebra fled past, closer to the elephants, and she heard its bellow of warning.
“Lions! Lions!”
Sky gave a gasp and shambled back another step. Lions. All she knew of them was that they had killed her mother, bringing her down while she was still weak and ill after Sky’s birth. Lions! A chill rippled down her spine.
“Sky, I’m frightened.” Inside the defensive circle, the small voice was just audible.
At once Sky turned to her little cousin and stroked his trunk with hers. I must pretend to be brave, for him. “It’s all right, Moon. They can’t reach us here. The grown ones won’t let them.” Gently she rubbed the back of his bristly neck. “I’ll keep you safe, and the family will protect both of us. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“But lions . . .”
“Think, Moon, Great Mother is with us! What lion would dare to attack her?”
Moon thought for a moment, then nodded, looking hugely reassured. He snuggled his head against Sky’s flank and tried to hook his tiny trunk over her back. “You’re right, Sky. I feel better now. Thanks.”
“Remember, the Great Spirit lives in Great Mother,” she whispered to her little cousin. “Sometimes lions frighten me too, but she won’t let them touch us.”
“I wish we didn’t have to share Great Mother with all the animals,” murmured Moon.
“Oh, it’s a great honor, Moon—be proud of her!” Sky glanced adoringly at Great Mother, who was facing the stampede with her trunk raised. Her noble face was lined with age now, the edges of her ears torn, but her long tusks still gleamed as white as the stars. For as long as Sky could remember, and long before that, her grandmother had been far more than just the loving matriarch of the Strider Family. Lowering her voice, she whispered to Moon: “Our own grandmother is the leader of the whole of Bravelands!”
Great Mother, as the holder of the Great Spirit, gave advice and counsel to all the creatures of the savannah. She judged their disputes, interpreted their omens, and resolved their fights, all with wisdom and stern patience. Great Mother might be growing old and frail, but she could still face down stampeding herds and prowling predators.
Right now, she looked downright irritated.
“That is quite enough,” Great Mother trumpeted. She stamped a foot, making the ground vibrate. “The pride have their prey, and it is over!”
Almost immediately, the chaos began to subside. The galloping hordes slowed, cantering and trotting and finally halting to mill around the elephants. Some even looked a little embarrassed about their panic. As the hubbub died down, one wildebeest brayed a sad call to a friend who would never answer again.
Great Mother strode forward, and the ring of elephants broke up, relaxing. Sky took the chance to peer across the savannah, nervously seeking out the lions. At last she caught a glimpse of them, a long way across the dry grassland, dragging their kill beneath the shade of a spreading acacia. She let herself breathe a sigh of relief, keeping it silent so that her little cousin wouldn’t notice.
“You see, Moon?” Sky rubbed his small head gently. “We were safe the whole time.”
The panic might be over, but some of the zebras and wildebeests were still barking and neighing furiously at one another, pawing the ground and peeling back their lips from their teeth. Great Mother paced closer until she was standing right over them, and they were forced to look up.
“What, by the Great Spirit, is going on here?” she demanded.
A wildebeest stepped forward, dipping its head respectfully. “The zebras didn’t keep watch properly! And now the flesh-eaters have taken one of ours!”
“That’s nonsense!” a zebra snapped at the wildebeest. But when he turned to Great Mother, he too lowered his head. “Great Mother, the wildebeest tried to direct the lions toward my herd. Self-preservation is all very well, but a deliberate attempt to sacrifice a zebra instead—”
“That’s not true!” retorted another wildebeest. Yet again, she turned toward the huge elephant with respect. “There was chaos, Great Mother. You know how it is.”
Great Mother swayed thoughtfully, then blew with her trunk into the ground, sending up a small flurry of dust. “Listen to me,” she said patiently. “As grass-eaters, you must trust one another, and you must accept that other herds act in good faith. You rely on one another to keep watch and survive.”
Not one of them argued; they simply dipped their heads and pawed lightly at the ground, looking faintly ashamed. “Yes, Great Mother.”
“And remember,” she added in a kind voice, “predators will follow you and they will hunt you. It is the Bravelands way. Remember the Code? Only kill to survive. Lions too must survive, my friends, and they have a right to eat.”
“And this time,” admitted the zebra gruffly, “every zebra survived to run and graze again. We were lucky.” He shook his stiff mane and turned back to the wildebeest. “May your herd-mate’s spirit run free in the savannah of the stars,” he said gravely.
Both wildebeests dipped their heads in acknowledgment. “May the Great Spirit repay his sacrifice,” they intoned together, “with sweet grass that grows fresh forever.”
Reconciled, the three grass-eaters walked away from the elephants and were soon lost once more in the milling multitudes of their herds. Great Mother nodded in satisfaction, then turned without a word and began to march on with her steady, ponderous stride. The other elephants fell in behind her, and the zebra and wildebeest herds moved alongside them, grazing and talking civilly once more.
Sky was glad it was over; she had hated the idea that lions were so close, and secretly she didn’t blame the grass-eaters for being angry. No wonder every beast is grumpy, she thought. She was tired and thirsty; they all were. The herds of elephants, zebras, and wildebeests had been traveling through the dry season, after all, and though the rains had begun, there was still a way to go before they reached the watering hole where the Great Gathering would take place.
All the same, Sky was excited about the journey. Throughout the year it was the vultures who carried news from across Bravelands to Great Mother; even now, as she marched at the head of all the herds, the huge birds spiraled down from the sky to speak to her, bald heads gleaming, and she answered them in their own screeching Skytongue.
Moon was watching the vultures too. “If those birds bring all the news to Great Mother, why do we have the Great Gathering?”
“Because that’s when all the animals know she’ll be there, and they can come and talk to her,” Sky told him patiently. “Hundreds and hundreds of them travel to see her and ask for her help with their problems.” She blew dust at the little elephant with her trunk. “Besides, Moon, the
Great Gathering is fun!”
“Oh. Well, I can’t wait.” Moon darted in a circle at a floppy canter.
At least Moon isn’t too thirsty, thought Sky. He’s full of energy. But then he was still drinking his mother’s milk, and while poor Star looked tired and much thinner after the dry season, she was still producing enough to sustain her little one.
Sky plucked a blade of grass as she walked and tickled Moon behind the ear. He giggled and dodged, so she picked another, enjoying the game.
It was when she reached for a third that her trunk brushed a bone fragment on the ground.
Something flashed, white and bright, inside her head. Sky gasped. It was a blur of images, and she could barely make sense of it; she knew only that a huge bird was swooping toward her out of the sun. Then, as fast as it had come, the vision was gone.
Sky paused and shook her head, her breath rasping, her heart thudding hard. What was that?
She squinted back at the bone. It was small, thin, and splintered; maybe it had broken from the leg of a small gazelle? It was certainly no elephant bone! All elephants could read the bones of their ancestors—but Sky knew that only Great Mother herself had the power to read those of other creatures.
I was mistaken. I’m tired and thirsty and I imagined it. Sky glanced above her. The sun’s high and my eyes got tricked, that’s all. There are lots of birds around. . . . She started, anxiously. Oh! Now I’ve lost Moon!
But he had only drifted to the edge of the herd, capering around the grown ones’ legs. “Moon, are you all right?” she called.
“Yes,” he trumpeted squeakily. “Just playing!”
“Well, be sure to keep up with the herd,” she warned him. “And don’t wander off!”
“I won’t!”
At least the distraction of Moon had taken her mind off that silly bird-illusion, she realized. Feeling better, Sky trotted to catch up with Star and Rain, who were chatting together, reminiscing about previous treks to Great Gatherings. They turned as she approached, greeting her with caresses of their trunks.
“Sky,” murmured Star in a singsong voice. “Are you tired?”
“Not too bad,” Sky told her cheerfully. “But it’s a long way yet and I want to listen to your stories, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course we don’t mind.” Rain laughed, her mottled trunk swaying. “I was just reminding Star about the year of the Three-Legged Cheetah. . . .”
Sky listened happily, glad to while away the time. She loved all the grown ones; they’d raised her together after the death of her mother. I still miss her, she thought, but having Star and Rain and the others is like having a whole herd of mothers.
“Go on, Sky,” said Star, nudging her. “It’s time for you to tell us a story. What’s your favorite memory?”
Sky dipped her head shyly. “I’m not really old enough to have a story,” she murmured. “But my favorite memory is . . . Oh! My mother, spraying me with water at the end of a hot day.”
The two older elephants laughed. “Well, now that’s a lovely memory!” rumbled Rain. “What I wouldn’t give for a trunkful of water right now!”
“Is my son all right?” asked Star, glancing over at him. “It’s time he had more milk.”
“Moon’s fine,” Sky told her happily, nodding at her little cousin as he stirred up a miniature dust storm with his trunk. “Look, he’s still playing. I’ll go and get him if you like.”
She ambled over to where he had wandered a little way from the herd. “Moon!” she called, raising her trunk. “Your mother wants you!”
“Sky, look what I found! A huge blue beetle!” he squealed happily. “Come and see!”
Sighing patiently, Sky trotted over. “Where is it, Moon? Listen, I told you not to wander away from the—”
She gasped as a massive, pale shape lumbered out of the scrub, broad horn pointing accusingly at the two young elephants.
Rhinoceros! Oh no. Sky’s heart sank in trepidation.
“Hey, this is my territory!” grunted the rhino. “Keep out! Hooligans!”
Swallowing hard, Sky lowered and swung her head in apology. “I’m sorry, Moon’s little and didn’t realize. I’ll just—”
“I said go on! Be off with you!” The rhino pawed the ground and dipped its massive head in a clear threat.
“Sorry!” squealed Sky again. Hustling Moon with her trunk, she hurried back to her family.
Great Mother turned her huge head as the two youngsters trotted toward her, and blew a soft rumble of greeting. “Don’t mind him, young Sky,” she called. “Some of the rhinos in Bravelands are bad-tempered, that’s all.”
Letting Moon scurry back to Star, Sky fell in beside Great Mother as she strode along. “Why are they so angry?” she asked. “I thought he was going to charge us!”
“Oh, the rhinoceroses are envious,” sighed Great Mother. “As long as any creature alive can remember, and further back even than that, the Great Mother or Father has been an elephant. The Great Spirit passes from one Great Parent to the next when we die. You know that, Sky, don’t you?”
Sky nodded.
“Well, it has never passed to a rhino!” Great Mother told her with a dry, rumbling laugh. “And they’ve thought for a long time that it should be their turn.”
“A rhino wouldn’t be nearly as good and kind as you,” said Sky loyally. “And that’s silly anyway. The Great Spirit chooses where it wants to go, so it’s not our fault it’s never picked a rhino.”
“That’s right, Sky.” Great Mother stroked Sky’s neck with her trunk, but the gesture meant she’d had to turn her head a little. Her foot knocked against a small rocky outcrop, and she stumbled, only just righting herself.
“Great Mother!” cried Sky in alarm. “Are you all right? Do you need to stop and rest?”
The old elephant rumbled a deep laugh. “No, Sky. Don’t you worry about me.” She lifted her head and walked on, scanning the horizon ahead. “I may be very old, but I have a long way to go yet. I’ll know when the time has come for the Great Spirit to leave me.”
Sky was silent for a moment. “How will you know?” she asked in a small voice. The thought of being without Great Mother was unbearable.
“I just will, my dear. And when the time comes, the Great Spirit will tell me where to find the next Great Mother or Father, so that it can pass to them. That is how it has always been, and how it always will be.”
“Well,” muttered Sky, “please don’t pass the Spirit to that horrible rhino.”
Great Mother laughed. “If that’s what the Spirit wishes, that’s what will be. Ah!” She pointed ahead with her trunk. “Water, look!”
Peering, Sky could see it now: a shimmer on the horizon, fringed with lush greenness, dark against the paleness of the plains. A murmur of delight and relief went around the herd, and they picked up their speed.
Sky gave a trumpet of excitement as the small lake came properly into view, brownish-green, still, and cool. It looked delicious.
“We can have a water fight!” cried Moon.
“Good idea!” Sky trotted to the muddy bank and dipped her trunk toward the water’s surface.
“Wait!” commanded Great Mother.
Sky hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as the matriarch approached the pool.
“No.” The old elephant shook her great head and pointed with her trunk. “The water is tainted, my dears. I’m sorry.”
Sky followed her gesture, and could barely repress a cry of dismay.
“You see it, Sky?” Great Mother shook her head slowly. “A dead impala. And it has lain there for some time.”
It floated just below the stagnant surface, half eaten and horribly bloated. Now that they were so close, Sky could indeed smell the rank rottenness that permeated the water; she blew it from her trunk with a shudder. Great Mother was right. There were soft cries of disappointment from the rest of the herd, but no elephant argued with her.
Sighing, Sky drew back. “Come on, Moon. Don’t
touch it.”
Moon looked miserable, but he plodded back to her side. The others looked no happier; Star in particular gave the pool a wistful, longing stare.
“Now,” said Great Mother encouragingly, swinging her trunk. “There’s nothing else for it. Come along, my dears.” She set off once more, resolute and stoic. “We must simply keep walking. . . .”
CHAPTER 6
The surface of the river was muddy and churned, but Thorn could quite clearly see the long, horny backs of the crocodiles that lurked in the water. He scratched his chin. Some of the reptiles looked dozy, basking in the dappled sunlight on the far bank, but the ones in the river were open-eyed and alert. And he didn’t even trust the sleepy ones to stay that way.
A little way off, two Highleaves from the Council relaxed at the top of a shady tree, yawning as they waited for the young baboons to embark on their challenge. One of the watchers was Mango; she picked a tick from Branch’s fur and popped it idly into her mouth. They did not seem very concerned or even particularly watchful, but Thorn knew that their half-shut eyes would register everything.
Behind Thorn and Mud, Fearless shifted restlessly on his paws. Thorn could see how anxious his lion friend was. We have until sunset, Thorn remembered. If we don’t complete the Feat by then, we fail forever.
“Whose idea was this?” muttered Mud at his side. “Cross the Crocodile River, indeed.”
“It proves we’re fast,” Thorn reminded him. “And it proves we have courage.”
“It proves we’re out of our minds,” grumbled Mud.
“Well, I believe in you both!” declared Fearless.
Thorn was touched by the lion’s faith. He knew Fearless was disappointed that his plan to attempt the Feats himself had come to nothing, and it was kind of him to be so supportive. The young lion crouched down, licking his jaws as he gazed at the sluggish flow of the river.
