The sun raced across the earth, over and over again, from horizon to horizon. Hundreds of herds swept across the land; days and years flew across her vision. Sky caught a glimpse of Great Mother calming a group of grass-eaters, and she blinked in recognition.
That was only a few days ago! When Great Mother resolved the quarrel between the zebras and the wildebeests.
Yet still the sky darkened and lightened, the whirling sun a blur, and as the colors of Bravelands became lurid and unnatural, Sky realized she was no longer seeing the past.
This is the future!
The land burned fiery red; the sky was a distorted, melting mass of vivid orange. The watering hole was still there, motionless and menacing, as if every hint of breeze had died. Pacing toward it was a huge lion, its dark mane rippling with every earthshaking step. It was powerful, splendid, almost radiant. But the most extraordinary thing about the great beast was the creature that rode on its back.
A baboon?
Sky could barely breathe. The sight was so unnatural, so bizarre and threatening, she could feel herself trembling.
Suddenly, the great lion staggered under the weight of the creature on its back. It gave a roar of pain, and the baboon slowly turned its head. Now Sky could see its face. It was hideous, a twisted mask of evil; the eyes glittered with an intelligence that was sharp and wicked. As the lion stumbled and fell, the baboon’s jaws stretched wide, exposing long, malicious fangs, and it gave a bone-rattling scream.
The watering hole was suddenly a startling red, the surface churning and foaming. Water rose and spilled onto the land, and Sky reeled in horror. It wasn’t water at all.
It was thick, bright blood.
Sky tore her trunk away from her mother’s bones, gasping, her breath whistling in terror from her trunk. Her whole body shook.
Twisting around, she hunted desperately for her herd. She could hear their deep, resounding rumbles as they called to one another; there they were, making their slow way back to the narrow pass, coming together, exchanging gentle touches with their trunks. With a cry of fright, Sky bolted toward her family.
“We mustn’t go!” she called after them. “We mustn’t go to the watering hole!”
Her shout of terror echoed eerily across the field of bones. Elephants turned, shocked, to watch her, their ears flapping forward as she hurtled across the plain.
“I’m telling you, we can’t go! We have to turn back!” Sky stumbled into the midst of the herd, panting. “That lake, it’s dangerous!”
“Night and morning, young one!” exclaimed Rain. “Whatever do you mean?”
“What are you talking about, Sky?” Star patted her kindly with her trunk. “The watering hole isn’t dangerous!”
“No, it is, it is!” Sky spoke so fast, she tripped over her words. “I saw it—my mother’s bones, they showed me terrible things. Something awful is going to happen there!”
“Oh, Sky,” murmured Great Mother. The others drew back to let her through, and she bent her wise, wrinkled head to butt Sky gently. “It’s been upsetting for you. The bones can be disturbing, especially to a young one. Try not to worry.”
“Communing with your mother is distressing, of course it is,” murmured Twilight. “But you mustn’t be afraid, Sky. There’s nothing to fear.”
“Indeed,” agreed Great Mother, stroking Sky’s head. “No elephant can see the future, little one. You saw something that frightened you, but it wasn’t something that is to come; we can see only our past. Your grief is stronger than ever in this place, and it gave you horrible imaginings, that’s all.”
Sky was still shivering, but Great Mother turned and gestured with her trunk to the pass that would take them out of the plain. “Come, now. It’s not far to the watering hole, and you’ll see that there’s nothing to fear. There will be food, and water, and peace, and the company of many animals. You’ll feel better soon.”
The other elephants fell in behind Great Mother, keen to get started on the last part of their journey. All around, Sky heard them exchanging tales of what the bones had shown them: happy memories and sad ones, recollections of good rainy seasons in the company of beloved family, visions of treks of the past. None spoke of watering holes overflowing with blood.
“You must listen to Great Mother,” murmured Star, tweaking Sky’s ear. “She knows so much more than all of us, and she protects us—even against our own fears. Come along, young one. Moon wants to play.” She glanced meaningfully at her son, and Sky understood that Star didn’t want her to make Moon afraid.
She picked up her feet, trotting alongside her family. Star and her aunts were surely right; she must have imagined the horrible vision.
And Great Mother is never wrong, she told herself firmly. What do I know, compared to her?
Yet as the herd trudged on, rejoining the trail of the grazers, Sky could not shake the chill along her spine.
CHAPTER 10
Thorn huddled behind a thick, verdant patch of ferns, holding his breath. This is wrong, he thought guiltily. If anyone catches me, I’m going to get thoroughly nipped.
The Highleaf Council didn’t approve of eavesdroppers. But he couldn’t bear to wait for the official announcement; the Council, Berry had told him, was discussing whether the Third Feat should go ahead that season at all. The notion that they might postpone it was awful, and his heart was pounding with nerves. I’ve waited for moons and moons to be with Berry! All I need to do is win my fight, and we’ll both be Highleaves. We’re bound to be caught sneaking around before long, and then we’ll be kept apart forever. . . .
“Bark’s death changes things,” Twig Highleaf was saying as she shot a look of appeal around at her fellow Council members. “It would be—well, disrespectful to carry on after what’s happened.”
“I agree with Twig,” declared Mango. She scratched at her shoulder. “The troop needs time to grieve. The Feats are an unnecessary distraction right now.”
“Of course, the ranks would have to stay as they are,” remarked Grub, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Thorn stiffened. They can’t . . . He craned forward, desperate, parting the ferns a little more with trembling paws.
“It’s unfortunate,” said Mango, “but it cannot be helped. The Feats always take place during the spring of a baboon’s sixth year. It’s tradition. This year’s youngsters will have to settle for whatever rank they achieved after the Crocodile River Feat.”
Thorn tried to control his panicked breathing. Stinger was peeling the bark thoughtfully from a small branch, picking out ants and popping them into his mouth. “It’s true that the troop needs to grieve,” he murmured, “but I don’t agree that continuing the Feats shows a lack of respect. How better to honor Bark’s memory? If we stop the Three Feats now, it will be the first time we’ve broken a fine tradition.”
“Hmm,” growled Grub Crownleaf. “Stinger makes a reasonable point, but I believe Twig and Mango speak sense. They combine respect both for our traditions and for Bark Crownleaf’s memory.” He scratched his chin. “What does our Starleaf say?” He turned to Mud’s mother, and every baboon in the clearing turned with him.
With a sigh, the Starleaf tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Then she opened them, gazing up through the crisscross of leaf and branch to the blue sky. Sunlight danced across her motionless features. She remained like that for a very long time, studying the patterns of the air.
At last she inclined her head forward once more. “The rain drifts eastward, toward the sunrise, and the birds fly with it. And I saw a weaver bird this morning, one as yellow as the sun, after the violent cloudburst.” The Starleaf gave a murmuring sigh. “After turmoil and disruption, the troop needs stability and calm.”
Behind his bush, Thorn squeezed his eyes tight shut. Please, please, please . . .
“But it also needs new strength, more than ever: just as the land needs sunlight to follow the rainstorm.” The Starleaf bowed her head gravely. “The signs tell me the Three Feats s
hould go ahead.”
Thorn didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it rushed out of his lungs. He clapped his paw over his muzzle, hoping no one had heard his sigh of relief. It was all he could do not to whoop with happiness.
“That settles the matter,” said Grub, scowling a little. He didn’t look happy, but he could hardly go against the Starleaf’s interpretations, now that he’d asked for her opinion. “The Third Feat will take place at sundown today.”
The debate over and the decision made, the Council members sprang down from their places on the branches around the glade, and one by one, or in small groups, drifted away into other parts of the forest. Thorn crouched low, waiting for the rustle of leaves and the pad of paws to fade. Any moment now, he could slink away.
“Well, young Thorn,” said a voice above him. “Are you pleased with the result?”
Jumping up with a gasp, Thorn blinked up into Stinger’s amber eyes, which glinted with a combination of disapproval and amusement. Stinger had parted the fern fronds with his long paws and was gazing down at the young baboon.
“Stinger! I’m sorry, I . . .” Thorn chittered his teeth. “I didn’t mean to listen—I know I’m not supposed to, but—”
“It’s all right.” Stinger laughed. “Nobody else saw you. I know how ambitious you are, and I know how much it means to you that the Three Feats go ahead. I won’t tell Grub, don’t worry.”
Thorn felt weak with relief. “Thanks, Stinger. I really am sorry. Are you sure nobody else on the Council saw me?”
“Ah, Thorn. Not many baboons in the troop have eyes as sharp as mine. It’ll stay our secret; after all, it didn’t do any harm, did it? And I’m pleased with the outcome too. I want you to win your fight!”
Thorn felt his face grow hot with pleasure. I wish he knew the real reason I want to win—but soon Berry and I will be able to tell him! “Thanks, Stinger. I’ll try my best.”
“I know you will.” Stinger patted his shoulder and turned to pad away. “Good luck!”
Now that the issue had been settled, the preparations were going ahead with surprising speed. When Thorn rejoined the rest of the young baboons, Beetle was already gathering them to announce the pairings for their fights. Thorn scampered to join them, pushing through furry bodies until he found Mud.
“Have you heard which baboon you’re fighting?” he whispered to his small friend.
“Beetle’s just announced it!” Mud turned to him, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’m fighting Bug!”
Thorn was thrilled for him. “That’s great news!” he whispered, hugging Mud. “You’ve got a really good chance of beating him; he’s not much bigger than you. The Council must be trying to make the pairings really fair, then!”
Mud nodded. “My leg still hurts, but I do think I’ve got a chance. Let’s find out who your opponent will be!” He turned back to listen to Beetle as he announced the rest of the pairings.
“. . . will fight against Bird Lowleaf,” Beetle was saying in his raspy voice. “And finally: Thorn Middleleaf will face—”
Thorn and Mud both went rigid, holding their breath.
“Nut Middleleaf!”
“Nut,” whispered Mud in horror. “Oh, bad luck, Thorn.”
Thorn swallowed hard. “Don’t worry, Mud,” he murmured. “Nut’s big and vicious, but he’s no stronger than I am. It’s not a problem.”
“The fights will commence at sundown!” declared Beetle, slapping the ground with an air of finality. “Until then, the rules say you must all separate. I suggest you all get some practice in before you come to the Glade of Duels.” With a final grunt, he trudged away to rejoin the other Council members.
The young baboons began to disperse immediately; there was a new crackle of excited tension in the air. “I guess that’s it, then,” said Thorn. “I’ll see you at sundown, Mud! Good luck.”
“Be careful when you’re fighting Nut,” warned Mud. “He’s not above cheating.”
“Don’t we know it,” muttered Thorn.
“Hey!” Nut was bounding past with two of his cronies, Fang and Shard, but he paused to smirk. “You and me, Thorn Middleleaf! This is excellent news. Especially since you won’t have Big Talk to do your fighting for you this time!”
Thorn growled. “Fearless is my friend, not my bodyguard. I can beat you myself, Nut.” He turned his rump on Nut and stalked away, ignoring the taunts of Nut’s gang.
“You told him, Thorn!” said Mud, loping to his side. “You’ll beat him, don’t worry.”
Thorn said nothing; for all his defiance, he wasn’t so sure Mud was right. Nut wasn’t just a dirty fighter, he was strong and heavy. It was going to be a hard fight, Thorn knew.
Still, he thought, I have to win. It’s as simple as that. I have to be a Highleaf! And I’ll enjoy beating Nut, much more than I’d like beating any other baboon.
“We’d better split up now and start practicing, Mud,” he said, trying to sound confident. “See you at the Glade of Duels!”
Mud gave him a quick hug and trotted away, his tail high.
Thorn was glad his friend was in good spirits; now he just needed to find some of his own. He loped through the forest to find a clear space where he could go through his moves. I’ll have to be quick and on guard, he told himself. But I can do this.
In the clear space he found, there was nothing to attack but a few fallen branches and an anthill, but by the time he had rehearsed every dodge, lunge, and feint he could think of, Thorn felt strong and lithe and almost confident. Flexing and stretching his muscles, he paused at last, taking deep breaths of the cool woodland air and trying to calm himself.
Nut’s a bully, but he isn’t so tough. I have to win; it’s as simple as that.
“Thorn?” Berry edged out of a gap between two date palms, glancing over her shoulder.
“Berry!” He couldn’t help it; he bounded up and nuzzled her. She drew back, her eyes sparkling. “I know I’m not supposed to see you,” she murmured, “but I wanted to give you a present. To wish you luck.” From behind her she drew a ripe, golden, perfect mango. Gently she placed it in his paws.
Thorn stared at it, his heart in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.
“You’re going to win.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I know you are.”
“Yes.” His face split in a broad grin. “For you, for us—I’m going to be a Highleaf, Berry!”
The low sun glowed golden through the branches, and the sky high above them was turning a musky gray-blue. “It’s time,” Berry told him softly. “I’ll see you in the glade.” She scampered away.
Thorn blew out a nervous breath. He hid his precious mango carefully, in the foliage beneath the date palms. Later, if all went well, he and Berry would eat it in celebration. Then, with a last, silent plea to the Great Spirit, he headed for the Glade of Duels.
Already most of the troop was gathered around the edge of the broad, ferny space, and their excited chatter was deafening. Just as in the Council Glade, there was a wide boulder right in the center, but this one was much flatter and broader than the Crown Stone—the Duel Stone.
Thorn eyed it with trepidation as Beetle paced forward once more. The old baboon nodded to the five Council members who would witness the fights and cleared his throat pompously.
“Our first contest in the Third Feat,” declared Beetle, “is between Kernel Middleleaf and Fang Middleleaf. Come forward, both of you, and let the strongest baboon win!”
Barely able to contain his nerves, Thorn watched the two baboons clamber onto the boulder. No blood was spilled in these battles—at least not on purpose. All Kernel had to do was wrestle Fang, trying to find the moment of weakness when he could shove his opponent off the rock. Once a baboon’s paws touched the ground, the battle was over.
Thorn had been hoping for a win for Kernel, but now he could hardly think past his anxiety about his own bout. The yells and hoots of the watchers were a meaningless noise in his ears. When F
ang twisted sharply, unbalancing Kernel and then lunging fast to send him flying from the rock, Thorn felt nothing more than a small twinge of disappointment.
Beetle murmured for a moment with the Council witnesses, then nodded and turned to address the troop. “The winner: Fang Highleaf!” he cried as Kernel limped gloomily away, a Middleleaf forever. “The second contest in the Third Feat: Thorn Middleleaf against Mud Deeproot.”
Thorn was still watching Fang caper in triumph. He barely heard Beetle’s words.
“Thorn Middleleaf!” shouted Beetle impatiently. “Come forward, and let the strongest baboon win!”
In disbelief, Thorn finally registered what he was saying. He stared at Beetle, certain he had misheard. The old baboon so rarely made a mistake.
But sure enough, there was Mud—his best friend—edging hesitantly toward the boulder in the center of the glade. As Beetle nodded at him, and Mud turned to lock his eyes pleadingly on Thorn’s, the little baboon’s face was a picture of shock and bewilderment.
Thorn shook himself. I have to fix this!
“No,” he stammered, embarrassed at having to correct an elder. “No, Beetle, I’m supposed to fight Nut.”
Silence fell among the troop as Beetle glared at him. “Kindly don’t contradict me, young Thorn. Come forward!”
Still confused, Thorn felt a tug on his forearm fur. “Thorn!” whispered Stinger in his ear. “Look! I had the order changed to make sure you win. This will be easy!”
“No,” gasped Thorn in horror. What has Stinger done? “I can’t!”
Stinger frowned. “Aren’t you pleased?”
“I’m—I’m grateful, Stinger, but I can’t fight Mud. He’s my best friend!” Thorn stared into Mud’s anxious eyes. Baboons all around them were beginning to mutter disapprovingly.
“Listen, Thorn,” hissed Stinger. “Be realistic. Mud’s going to lose no matter who he fights. Bug would have thrashed him! He might as well lose to you—and you’re much less likely to hurt him than Bug is. You want to be a Highleaf, don’t you?”
I don’t have a choice, realized Thorn in despair. Slowly he approached the boulder, climbing onto it to join Mud. I do want to be a Highleaf. I want it so much.