by Erin Hunter
“And now that we have our prospective leaders,” announced Beetle in his reedy but clear voice, “we will cast our votes.”
One by one, the baboons moved forward into a line, waiting patiently to collect a smooth pebble each from Beetle. And one by one, they moved forward to the line of hopeful Highleaves, placing their smooth stones before their preferred choice. A little shyly, and feeling very new to it all, Fearless joined the line for Beetle’s pebbles.
He couldn’t help his gaze sliding to the piles of stones before each candidate. They were growing larger—and the biggest piles were before Grub and Stinger. His heart in his mouth, Fearless crept forward in the line, eager to cast his own vote.
He realized he had reached the front. Beetle stood there staring at him with some puzzlement, a pebble in his wrinkled paw.
“Fearless, Cub of the Stars,” he said, startled. “What are you doing here?”
Fearless bowed his head. “I’m waiting to vote, Beetle Highleaf.”
“Sky and stone, Fearless!” The old baboon blinked and shook his head vigorously. “Only baboons may vote for the Crownleaf. I’m sorry.”
“But . . .” Taken aback, Fearless licked his jaws. “I’m a member of Brightforest Troop. . . .”
“You’re a lion!” Beetle peered at him, disapproval in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Fearless, but this is how it has always been and always will be. You are not a baboon, and you may not vote for our Crownleaf.”
“But Beetle Highleaf, he’s one of us!” objected Thorn.
Beetle shook his head. “Rules are rules, young Thorn. Now take your pebble, please. Your friend must step aside. Thank you, Fearless.”
Crestfallen, and more than a little embarrassed, Fearless dropped his gaze from Beetle’s and slunk aside. Padding away on heavy paws, his hide hot from mocking stares, he lay down in the shadows to watch the voting go on without him.
Why am I surprised? Bark Crownleaf herself told me. I’m too much of a lion.
But it still hurt.
The last baboon cast her vote, and Beetle stalked in front of the candidates. He glanced down at the separate piles of pebbles, then raised his head.
“It’s clear that the two most popular are Grub and Stinger,” he announced. “Therefore the Council thanks the other contenders for their loyalty and their willingness to serve. Let us count the stones for Grub and Stinger.”
As the disappointed Highleaves padded back to their places in the troop, Fearless found his claws were digging into the earth with the tension. He watched in silence as Beetle and the other Council members began to count out the two piles of pebbles. His chest felt tight, and his skin prickled with nerves.
Oh, Great Spirit, if you’re there? Let Stinger win. I don’t think I’ll have a happy future in Brightforest Troop if Grub is Crownleaf. . . .
When Beetle cleared his throat and turned to the troop, Fearless stiffened and gulped hard. Beside him, Thorn patted his shoulder.
“Here’s hoping,” Thorn whispered.
Mud and Berry edged closer to Fearless, pressing themselves against his flanks. He knew they were reassuring themselves as well as him. All four friends held their breath.
“The result is narrow,” announced Beetle solemnly, “but the votes have been counted three times, and the tally is agreed by all the Council. Brightforest Troop, greet and salute your new leader . . .”
He puffed out his chest with the importance of the moment.
“Grub Crownleaf!”
Fearless’s head swam with disappointment. His stomach was a stone-weight inside him. Oh no. Not Grub.
Stinger was dipping his head, congratulating Grub on his victory, but Fearless could tell from the slump of his shoulders how disappointed he was beneath his charm and dignity.
And Grub’s winning speech had been all about Fearless’s outsider status. That was how it sounded to me, anyway. It hurt not only that Grub had said it, but that so many of the baboons must have agreed with him. Fearless felt a wrench within his rib cage. If Stinger’s been rejected, that goes double for me.
Grub was clambering back onto the Crown Stone, barely able to hide his eagerness and delight. He patted its smooth top and sat down, thin lips spread in a wide grin.
“I, Grub Crownleaf”—his voice rolled over the words as if he found them delicious—“will defend and guide this troop always, until my death; this I will do with the help of the Great Spirit.”
The baboons yammered and jumped, chorusing their approval. Older baboons began to dart off and return with gifts; in a short time Grub was surrounded by small heaps of roots, berries, nuts, and the tenderest of edible leaves. He looked as if he might burst with pride and pleasure.
The younger baboons were following suit now—Thorn and Berry had bounded off to find gifts, with Mud following slowly after them, still limping from the injury he got from the crocodile. Fearless knew very well that he had to join in; it was his only option and his only fading chance for acceptance. He padded off to retrieve a plump dead bird he had caught earlier; but when he laid it on the ground at Grub’s paws, the baboon’s smirk turned to a scowl.
It’s looking every bit as bad as I feared, Fearless told himself as he backed off, head lowered. This is a bad time for me. It’s going to be so difficult with Grub in charge. I’m going to have to fight hard to prove him wrong.
He clenched his jaws. And the only way to do that is to prove myself, to all of them. But how? I wasn’t allowed to try the Three Feats—even Thorn and Mud thought I shouldn’t.
An idea sparked suddenly in his mind, kindling into a flame of righteous determination. Wait. There is a way to prove I am truly Baboon. I know what I can do!
“Thorn. Mud.” He trotted over to his friends, lowering his head to accept their friendly, comforting scratches.
“I’m sorry about this, Fearless,” murmured Mud. “Grub’s the last leader we wanted, too.”
“I know.” He nuzzled the little baboon. “But I know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re not leaving?” asked Thorn, alarmed.
“No,” Fearless told him. “I’m going to avenge Bark’s death. That will prove to Brightforest Troop that I belong here with them, that I’m loyal.”
Thorn gaped at him. “But how will—”
“I’m going to find that hyena’s troop. Or its pride—whatever hyenas call it.” Fearless lifted his head proudly. “I’m going to drive them far away from here so that they’ll never hurt another Brightforest baboon.”
He gazed expectantly at his friends. They didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic as he’d hoped. Indeed, they shared a glance of concern.
“Oh, Fearless,” muttered Mud. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a terrible idea,” declared Thorn.
Stinger came bounding over, his expression horrified. “Did I hear right, Fearless? You’re going to go chasing hyenas?”
“Yes,” said Fearless, indignant at their less-than-confident reaction. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Thorn and Mud are right,” said Stinger firmly. He drew himself up to his full height, his gaze level with Fearless’s. “It’s a dreadful idea, and it’s far too dangerous. You may be a lion, but you’re one lion—and you’re talking about a whole pack of hyenas. We need you here!”
Fearless gave a defiant roar and pawed the ground, wishing he had a mane to shake.
“I beat one hyena,” he growled. He glared at his friends. “I can certainly scare off the rest of its stupid pack.” Turning away, he began to stride from the glade, but he stopped to look over his shoulder.
“I’ll be back soon, and those hyenas won’t be,” he told them with a low snarl. “I’ll prove my worth in Brightforest Troop. To all of you!”
CHAPTER 9
A cloud of dust hung low over the savannah, raised by thousands of hooves as the elephants and the other grazers made their way across the parched Bravelands. Sky struggled to see through the hordes of trave
ling animals, but in the glimpses she caught of the far horizon, it was blurred by a shimmering yellow haze of heat. She trudged behind her family in a kind of trance, her aching thirst so familiar by now that she could hardly remember the taste of water.
Then, like a miracle, a single patch of green caught her eye; she was so deep in her daze, it was behind her before she realized. Sky’s eyes widened as she glanced back, trying to catch sight of it again, but already it was lost in the dust.
It didn’t matter, though, because there was more! Her heart swelled as swathes of grass began to appear underfoot, their fresh greenness shocking against the dry, ocher earth. Sky picked up her feet. She brushed her trunk across a rippling tussock of leaves, and as the pace of the great march slowed, she snatched at some blades with the tip of her trunk, plucking them free. Closing her eyes, she brought the grass to her mouth and chewed on it. It was sweet and fragrant, rich with the promise of water.
My first fresh grass of the season!
The mass of grazers had almost come to a halt, she realized, as all around her animals bent their heads to tear eagerly at the green shoots. Sky’s family had slowed, too, pulling and tugging at bushes that were vibrant with new growth. Sky wrapped her trunk around a supple young branch and snapped it off, chewing enthusiastically. Around her she could hear cries of delight as the elephants ate their fill.
“Have you ever tasted such tender grass?”
“Try these shoots—they’re amazing!”
As Sky ate, she noticed the air suddenly cool, but it wasn’t until the first fat drop of rain spattered her flank that she looked up and saw the sky had darkened under a tower of billowing cloud. Its front was sweeping across the savannah, blotting out the sun.
“Rain, Moon!” she cried.
The drops quickly became a torrential downpour, washing the red dust from the elephants’ hides and turning them a gleaming dark gray. Moon knelt down, then tipped over to roll, squealing, in a patch of new mud. Sky tickled him with her trunk, enjoying the cool mud he splashed against her legs.
A zebra neighed happily nearby. “Great Mother has brought us to the living lands!”
“She never fails us,” responded another.
It was as if the shadow of the rain clouds had driven away a heavier darkness lurking in their hearts. Sky could sense every creature’s spirits lifting as they ambled on, snatching at rich mouthfuls of grass, their hides drenched. Her trunk tingled with the warm, rich scent of rain soaking into the earth.
“Do you smell that, Moon?” she whispered to her cousin. “That’s the best scent in the world!”
He waved his little trunk in the air, sniffing delightedly. “It is!”
Ahead of Sky, Great Mother had halted beside a huge boulder, steep-sided like a miniature mountain. Its smooth, dark gray sides, gleaming in the rain, were etched with crisscrossing grooves in an elaborate pattern. Sky recognized the place they had reached: those marks had been scored in the rock by the tusks of her forebears, over too many years to count.
Great Mother caressed the rock once with her trunk before lifting her head to call to the herds.
“Zebras, gazelles, wildebeests—noble herds of Bravelands—follow the green shoots, and keep walking toward the forest. We will be with you soon. But there is something we elephants must do before we join you.”
Sky heard the message being passed across the plains. With neighs and whickers and bellows of agreement, the groups of animals moved on, slow but relentless, a seething mass of gray and brown and white-and-black stripes. Sky watched them go, content to wait with Great Mother. She knew why they had stopped; what the family had to do was something they did every year. Even before her own first trek, Sky had listened in awe to the reminiscences of the grown ones.
Great Mother nodded once to the other elephants, then turned to lead them off the trail. Sky followed behind Star and Rain, her heart thumping slowly with the solemnity of the occasion.
“Sky! Sky! Where are we going?” Moon was trotting at her side. “What are we doing? Why can’t we follow the herds anymore? Why can’t we go to the Gathering? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Moon.” She glanced down at him, amused at his breathless questions, but rather proud that she could be the one to explain it to him. “We’re going to the Plain of Our Ancestors.”
“Ohhh.” He fell silent at once, but his eyes shone with excitement. He trotted faster, eager to keep up with Sky.
The detour was a long one, taking the elephants far from the trail, but with leaves and water plentiful now they strode on energetically. The gritty, well-trodden path became rocky, and then rose up steeply through a narrow pass between sheer crags, but the herd barely slowed.
Mist gathered as they climbed higher, settling in thick tendrils of cloud between stunted trees and craggy outcrops. The way grew narrower, until the elephants were climbing the slope in single file.
The rocky pass reached a crest, then dipped and opened up very suddenly. As if Great Mother had lifted her trunk and blown the mist away, it disappeared, and the herd halted to gaze at the high, smooth landscape.
The looming walls of stone swept out wide on either side, encircling a vast, sunken plateau that was green with grass and flowers. Scattered in the undergrowth were strange shapes, stark gray and white against the greenness.
Sky stood speechless. Even though she had known what awaited them, the vista took her breath away.
The elephants fell quiet as they walked forward. Bleached bones and creamy tusks jutted skyward; Great Mother moved among them, gently touching the skeletons with her trunk, and the rest of the family followed her, hushed and reverent.
Sky’s heart swelled within her. Somehow, the great graveyard was not a sad place—it was awe-inspiring. Her hide prickled as she gazed around at the bones of her ancestors. Beside her, even Moon was quiet, his eyes huge. Above them, the sun broke suddenly through a rift in the dark rain clouds, its light gleaming on the mighty skeletons.
“Why are they here?” whispered Moon shakily.
Sky stroked his bristly neck with her trunk. “When an elephant knows it’s time to die, they will make their way to this place. If they die somewhere else, their family brings the bones of the dead one here,” she murmured. “I don’t know why. Maybe Great Mother knows. But it’s a very special place for all the elephants of Bravelands.”
Moon bobbed his head, then sidled away without another word to huddle close to his mother. Sky understood. She remembered how overwhelmed she had been on her first visit to the Plain of Our Ancestors.
And there’s someone I need to be with, too. . . .
She picked her way between the bones, careful not to disturb them. Some were so huge, the rib cages were like an eerie, white forest, but Sky did not feel intimidated. These are my ancestors: my family who lived and died long before I was born. I can almost hear them whispering to me. . . .
The herd of living elephants had dispersed now, each of them making their own way to particular remains. Sky edged past Twilight, who was running her trunk across a magnificent tusk and murmuring to it, and Rain, gently caressing a far smaller skeleton, her eyes closed in grief.
Sky herself moved toward the edge of the plateau. She knew where she would find the skeleton she was looking for, and it was exactly where she remembered. Dipping her head, she reached out with her trunk to part the grass that had grown up around the remains. The skull and rib cage still rose clear of the undergrowth, gleaming pale gold in the light of the late sun’s rays.
Oh, Mother, she told the bones silently. I love my herd, and I know they love me, but I still miss you so much.
She wondered if Boulder ever came here. Her older brother was somewhere out on the savannah, she knew, roaming with his own herd of bulls, but it had been a long time since he had come of age and left the Strider herd. She could hardly remember what he looked like. His tusks must be huge by now; he’d been so much older than her. Does he visit Mother’s bones? Will I ever meet
him here? Or somewhere else, out there in Bravelands?
If I could see him, we could talk about Mother. We could remember her together.
Sky gave a deep sigh and gathered herself. Her trunk trembled a little as she reached it toward her mother’s bones. What will you show me this time, Mother?
The tip of her trunk brushed a rib bone, and the Plain of Our Ancestors blurred and receded into a hazy, silvered glow.
The scene cleared, and the land was visible again, but Sky no longer stood on the plain among the bones of her ancestors. Around her, Bravelands stretched to the horizon, dotted with flat-topped acacias. The rain-heavy sky was deep gray, and she could feel the close, oppressive heat of the oncoming storm. Nearby, a frail elephant stood with her baby at a watering hole.
It’s me! And Mother!
But this Sky was so small, barely more than a newborn calf.
Almost twelve years ago. I hadn’t even been alive for a full season.
Glancing up, baby Sky gazed adoringly at her mother above her; a huge trunk caressed her bumpy head. Before them, the broad lake glittered and sparkled despite the clouds. Sky’s mother dipped her trunk into the cool water and sprayed it playfully over her baby’s hot hide.
It’s the memory I told to Star and Rain!
Sky stood quite still and watched the scene, enchanted, but aching with wistful longing.
The tiny elephant shook herself in delight and trotted a circle around her mother, then capered between her legs. The grown one swayed slightly, still weak from the birth but happy to watch her newborn play. Occasionally she would dart out her trunk, trying to grab Sky, laughing as her baby dodged.
I wish I could watch this forever. . . .
But the scene was changing. Suns rose and set in flashes, rains came and passed, and the baby was growing, thriving. But her mother weakened, grew thinner, and in a flash of teeth and long, horrible claws, she was brought down by roaring, tawny predators. Other grown ones shielded the little elephant, urging her away; the killing was swiftly over, and then the rot-eaters descended. The lonely bones dried and bleached in the heat.
