by Erin Hunter
Fearless crouched low, and as carefully as he could, Thorn heaved his friend up onto the young lion’s back, then scrambled up after him. Fearless set off, trying to keep his stride as level as possible so that he wouldn’t jolt poor Mud. As hard as he tried, though, he heard Mud stifling cries of pain every time his paws hit the ground.
As they came in sight of Tall Trees, the first baboon Fearless saw was Stinger. He came bounding toward them, his expression turning from expectation to anxiety to sudden alarm.
“What happened?” he barked. “Thorn, what’s wrong with Mud?”
“He got bitten,” Thorn said tersely as he jumped off Fearless’s back. “A croc knocked him off a branch we were using, and he fell in among them. He would have died if it hadn’t been for Fearless.” Thorn stroked his friend’s neck. “Fearless jumped in and attacked the crocodile.”
“Fearless,” gasped Stinger as other baboons began to gather, hooting softly with horror and concern. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for this.”
Mud’s mother was wriggling and pushing through the crowd; the baboons parted respectfully when they saw it was the Starleaf. She rushed to Fearless’s side and stroked Mud’s sodden head, chittering reassurance in his ear. He was awake, his eyes slitted open, but he lay limp across Fearless’s spine.
“Fearless,” she urged him, “bring Mud to the Goodleaves, quickly!”
The Goodleaf baboons must have heard the news already, because by the time Fearless carried Mud into their glade, they had already drenched many leaves in honey and were waiting. They set to work at once, bathing Mud’s leg and wrapping his wounds in a leaf poultice.
Berry had joined them and was looking at Thorn, her brown eyes filled with concern. “He’ll be all right,” she murmured, touching his arm. “Mud might be small, but he’s tough.” Thorn nodded gratefully.
“The jackalberry leaves will stop the bleeding,” the oldest of the Goodleaves reassured Mud’s mother. “And the honey will help his wounds heal and stop them from turning bad. Don’t worry, Starleaf. The bite is messy, but not too deep. He’ll keep his leg.”
“Thank the Great Spirit.” The Starleaf sighed, closing her eyes in gratitude.
Fearless was suddenly weak with relief, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Beside him he heard Thorn let out a long sigh, and knew that his friend was feeling exactly the same. Berry squeezed Thorn’s paw briefly and slipped away.
Some of the troop had followed them into the Goodleaves’ peaceful glade and were observing quietly, but a little way away, echoing from beyond a clump of thorn trees, Fearless could hear whoops and hoots of unrestrained celebration.
“I’m a Middleleaf, I’m a Middleleaf!”
“You are, you are!”
“Monkey nuts to crocodiles, they don’t scare you!”
Fearless recognized at least one of the raucous voices, and rage burned in his throat. Leaving Mud in the capable paws of the healers, he bounded toward the sounds of celebration. Thorn sprang to his side, and he could hear other baboons following inquisitively, but he didn’t look back. He could focus only on the screeching laughter and cheering, and his muzzle peeled back from his teeth as he ran.
“Nut!” Fearless skidded to a halt in a shower of leaves, roaring. The cheering baboons fell silent with shock, staring at him.
“Why are you celebrating?” he snarled at Nut and his gang. “This was all your fault!”
Nut’s eyes widened. Recovering quickly, he drew back his lips to show his fangs. “My fault? How do you reckon that, Big Talk?”
Fearless stalked forward. “You threw stones at the crocodiles. You drove them wild deliberately! You tried to stop any other baboon from crossing the river—and because of what you did, Mud almost died!”
“Mud?” Nut screeched in scorn. “Mud shouldn’t have tried that Feat in the first place! It’s not my fault if he’s too scrawny and pathetic.” He scratched his snout, then grinned maliciously. “Almost as pathetic as a lion who thinks he’s one of us.”
A familiar tide of rage flooded through Fearless; he could almost detect the stench of terrified hyena in his head. But he barely had time to recognize the thrill of furious power in his sinews before his forepaws slammed into Nut.
The baboon hit the earth hard. Fearless crouched over him, opening his jaws in a violent roar that made Nut shut his eyes tight. Fearless could feel him wriggling and squirming—could even hear his pleading whimpers—but he pinned him down tightly with his full weight. His claws pricked Nut’s skin.
“Stop!” a voice cried desperately in his ear, and he felt fingers tugging at his fur. “Fearless, stop!”
His ears were ringing, and blood pounded in his skull, but he finally registered Thorn’s pleas. He gave one last roar, his slaver dripping onto Nut’s terrified face, and then he pulled away. Turning his rump on Nut, he flicked his tail across the young baboon’s face in disgust.
The rage was subsiding now, and he could see more clearly—and what he saw was his own troop, shivering and terrified. A couple of smaller baboons crept backward, hiding behind their friends. One scuttled into a clump of ferns and did not emerge. Thorn and Stinger were watching him with shock in their eyes. Fearless blinked.
Oh, Great Spirit! What have I done?
Grub Highleaf was first to recover. He shambled forward and pointed at Fearless, his fangs bared. “See! I tried to tell you all. I knew what would happen if we let a lion into the troop!”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” said Fearless.
“He’ll kill us all!” screeched Grub.
“He wouldn’t—” began Thorn.
“Yes! Yes, he would!” Grub snarled. “It’s not natural for a lion to live with baboons. It isn’t right!”
Stinger pushed himself between Thorn and the furious Grub. “Fearless is our friend,” he said firmly. “He only attacked Nut because he was defending Mud!”
“Defending him?” shrieked Grub. “Mud is back there with the Goodleaves! This beast tried to kill Nut!”
As the argument raged around him, Fearless could only stand there, motionless with shock. Grub’s harsh words didn’t hurt at all; what really stung him was his own behavior.
Grub’s right—I did nearly kill Nut. And just for a moment, I wanted to.
“The lion can’t control himself.” Nut, trembling still, was speaking to Stinger.
“Yes, he can!” snapped Thorn, fangs bared. “If he hadn’t, you’d be dead now!”
Fearless swallowed hard. You don’t know how close I came, my friend. . . .
“He’s a danger to the whole troop,” said Splinter, a young female. “We can’t let him stay.”
The argument looked horribly likely to rage all night; Fearless wanted nothing more than to curl up and put his paws over his ears. It was a relief when Berry Highleaf ran out of the trees, barking an alert.
“Stop, all of you! Stop!”
A few of them turned, inquisitive and irritated, though Grub had opened his jaws to shout at Thorn again.
“All of you!” Berry cried. “Listen to me!”
The yells and screeches faded as every baboon turned to her. Silence fell.
She was panting, shaking, her brown eyes huge. “Stop, stop. You have to come with me.”
Stinger ran to his daughter, stretching out a paw. “Berry, what—”
She sucked in a breath, and her words came out on a sob.
“Bark Crownleaf is dead.”
CHAPTER 8
Fearless raced alongside the baboons through the trees, following Berry’s lead. She leaped a trickle of gray water, scrambled over a mossy log, and darted nimbly through a tangle of branches; the other baboons followed, light-footed and agile. Fearless crashed after them, determined not to be left behind by his troop. No one spoke, Fearless noticed as his paws thudded desperately; every baboon was fully focused on Berry’s shocking words.
Bark Crownleaf is dead.
Bark Crownleaf is dead.
Berry led them to
the edge of Tall Trees, to a deep ditch that filled with water in the wet season; now, at its beginning, there was little more than swampy mud. In it lay Bark Crownleaf, eyes glazed and half open, sprawled in death. Near her body lay another: the ragged, matted corpse of a hyena.
Brightforest Troop was silent as they crept closer. There was fear and distress in every baboon’s eyes; a baby began to whimper.
As Stinger and some others jumped down to Bark’s side, touching her gently and chittering sadly, Fearless slid down after them on his haunches. He sniffed at the dead hyena.
Oh no, he realized with a sick lurch. It’s the same one I scared away.
He turned to stare at Bark’s body. The smell of the hyena was all over her, and in a deep wound on her side, a long claw was embedded. Her jaws were open; one of her long teeth was snapped off. Stinger touched the broken stump, frowning.
Thorn crouched by the limp corpse of the hyena. Using his long fingers, he parted the coarse hair on its neck.
“Look,” Thorn whispered.
Fearless’s eyes widened: a broken fang was half buried in the hyena’s neck. Thorn tugged it out and held it up for all to see.
Silently, Stinger took it from him, turning it over in his paws and studying it for a long time. “Bark’s,” he said at last in a choked voice. He rubbed his scarred snout. “She and the hyena must have battled. And somehow neither of them triumphed. Each one killed the other.”
Every baboon watched Stinger as he carried the broken fang back to the top of the ditch. He rose up on his hind paws, displaying it reverently.
“Hear me, Brightforest Troop,” he cried. “This is a sign of Bark Crownleaf’s bravery and spirit. She killed the attacker who intended to kill us. She was a great and wise Crownleaf to this troop, and she will be missed.”
The baboons hooted sadly, some of them pounding the ground with their forepaws. Fearless huffed along with them in agreement.
“Soon, we shall decide who will be our new Crownleaf,” declared Stinger, stroking the tooth gently. “But for now, let us mourn Bark Crownleaf: finest of leaders.”
Fearless watched as, one by one, the baboons jumped down into the ditch. Lovingly they touched and stroked Bark’s lifeless body, before turning away and padding back in silence into the shadows of Tall Trees. Bark’s body they left where it lay; it was the custom of all Bravelands creatures to leave their dead for the vultures. It made Fearless a little sad, but he knew it made good sense: Bark Crownleaf’s body would nourish the life of Bravelands, just as every Crownleaf’s had before her.
Just as my father’s did, too.
Guilt wrenched Fearless’s gut. And I failed Bark Crownleaf, just like I failed Father.
He waited until the last baboon had visited the body before he padded across and touched a paw to Bark’s cold fur. Good-bye, Bark. I may not be a baboon, but I was part of your troop. You were my leader.
Thorn and Mud were waiting for him. “Bark died defending Brightforest Troop,” Thorn said gently, patting his shoulder. “There’s no more honorable way to go. Don’t be too sad, Fearless.”
“It’s not that,” he muttered. “Thorn, I had that hyena in my jaws. It’s the same one. If I’d killed it instead of just scaring it, Bark wouldn’t have died.”
“You couldn’t know what was going to happen,” Mud comforted him.
“Mud’s right,” said Thorn. “Who could have imagined the brute would come back, after the fright you gave it? This isn’t your fault, Fearless.”
They’re just being kind, thought Fearless miserably. I know I’m to blame.
The glade of the Council was crowded. For once it was not just the Highleaves of the Council in attendance; the whole troop had massed beneath the spreading trees. Baboons sat on the ground, grooming one another, and more balanced in the low branches, cradling their young or simply watching. One or two chewed morosely on figs. The amber glow of the sky had faded, and the silver orb of the moon hung above the high treetops; crickets and frogs were beginning to chirp the first notes of their nightly chorus. Right in the center of the clearing, the Crown Stone stood, desolate and empty.
Fearless lay with his forepaws outstretched, his head raised, waiting. He had never seen a leaderless Council, and despite his sadness he was curious to find out what would happen now. Thorn, Mud, and Berry sat with him; their anxious excitement was so contagious, he could feel it prickling his hide.
Old Beetle Highleaf padded slowly forward to stand in front of the Crown Stone, facing the troop. The low chatter grew hushed, until only the song of the crickets and tree frogs disturbed the silence.
Beetle cleared his throat. “The vote for our new Crownleaf will take place under the full moon, as tradition demands. I remind the troop that only Highleaf-ranking baboons may put themselves forward; any of you who wish to do so, please speak now, and address Brightforest Troop from the Crown Stone.”
His part finished, the old baboon returned with dignity to his Highleaf comrades and sat back to watch.
Fearless half expected a delay, with baboons only reluctantly putting themselves forward. It would have seemed more respectful to Bark, he thought. But Grub Highleaf loped instantly to the Crown Stone and sprang up onto it. He peered down at them with small yellow eyes.
“Beetle speaks the truth,” he declared, letting his gaze roam around the troop. “Traditions are important! I am a baboon who respects our customs, and the Way of the Troop. You can rely on me to safeguard Brightforest’s best interests at all times. Our family, our troop: we come first, and no leader should ever forget it. Choose me, and I will protect you from every outsider who would harm us.”
Fearless blinked in shock. Grub was staring straight at him as he uttered his final words.
To a chorus of approving murmurs—and some whoops of support from his own retinue—Grub leaped back down from the Crown Stone. If he had expected to become leader that instant, though, he was quickly disappointed; Fearless was relieved to see more baboons stalk forward to stake their claim.
As Twig Highleaf bounded up onto the Crown Stone to begin her speech, Fearless noticed that Stinger had come to sit beside Berry. An idea struck him.
“Stinger!” he growled. “You should put yourself forward for Crownleaf. You’d be great.”
“Yes!” Thorn agreed eagerly. An older baboon turned to frown, shushing him, and he lowered his voice. “Stinger, you really should.”
“I agree,” whispered Mud.
“Oh no,” murmured Stinger, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not cut out for leadership.”
“That’s not true, Father!” Berry told him severely.
“I’m with Berry,” murmured Thorn, with a glare across the glade at the first contender. “Grub’s far too sure of himself.”
“And that’s never good in a leader,” added Mud. “Honestly, Stinger, you’d be much better.”
Stinger gave an uncertain shrug. “I’m not sure.” He turned his bright eyes on his daughter. “Do you think I should, Berry?”
She touched his arm with her paw. “Father, you’d make a wonderful leader. I know it. And the fact you’re so unsure about it—well, that just makes you even more suitable. It’s like Thorn and Mud say—a leader who’s too sure of himself will never be a good one. The Crownleaf has to be wise as well as strong, and he has to listen to his Council. Grub would be bad at that.”
“Grub may not win,” pointed out Stinger.
“But he might. Go on, Father,” urged Berry. “At least stand.”
The last speaker was just finishing, and Beetle was looking around to make sure there were no more contenders. With a reluctant sigh, Stinger got to his paws.
“I will speak,” he announced.
“Very well, Stinger Highleaf.” Beetle withdrew with a respectful nod and gestured for him to come forward.
Stinger dipped his head to Beetle, ambled to the Crown Stone, and leaped onto its smooth surface. He glanced down and touched it, looking a little overwhelmed,
but when he began to speak, his voice was strong.
“Brightforest Troop,” he announced. “Our leader, Bark Crownleaf, has left us a fine legacy. She respected our traditions, but when she heard the song of change in the air, she was not afraid to listen to it. She combined humility with strength, and that made our troop strong—stronger than ever. That is a legacy I would honor. The world is an uncertain place. It’s true Bravelands is eternal, but it is ever changing. A leader needs to think quickly. A leader must think new thoughts, be able to adapt.” His gaze roamed over the troop, meeting the eyes of individual baboons. “I think you all know me; you know that fast and flexible thinking is a quality of mine. I will never be hidebound by custom when I make decisions—but I will respect our troop’s traditions, the ones that have served us so well. I will keep Brightforest Troop safe and secure in our shifting world, and I am clever and cunning enough—I think you would agree—to keep us fed and watered in the driest of dry seasons.” He lifted his head proudly. “I, Stinger Highleaf, would lead this troop beyond survival—I would raise it to greatness.”
As Stinger sprang down from the Crown Stone, Fearless’s heart swelled with hope, and he opened his jaws to pant with the excitement. Grass and Fly were whooping. Thorn was jumping up and down with delight, and Mud’s eyes shone with awe. Berry wrung her hands together, then nervously scratched at her neck. There was a mixture of adoration and anxiety in her face.
“That was brilliant!” whispered Mud.
“I know. And straight from the heart,” growled Thorn, “unlike Grub’s speech. That sneaky baboon had obviously been planning what he was going to say for a long time.”
The clamor of approving hoots was louder than it had been for the other candidates, and Fearless could make out a rumbling murmur of appreciation from many baboons.
“That was great, Berry,” he growled. “You father always speaks so well.”
She nodded. “He does. But when it comes to voting . . . we’ll see.” There were creases of nervousness on her face as her father sat down at the end of the row of candidates.
