“What is it?” he wondered.
“Sky and stone,” breathed Thorn. “It’s the herds, Fearless. It’s the grass-eaters.”
Now the approaching animals were visible, hordes of them teeming across the horizon. Fearless could make out the black and white of zebras, the milling dun and gray of wildebeests and kudu, and the bright gold of gazelles.
“The great migration, isn’t it?” exclaimed Fearless. “Mud told me all about it.”
Thorn nodded, a grin on his broad face. “It’s the grass-eater herds, returning for the rains. What a sight!”
Fearless stared, awed by the sheer number of creatures that trampled across the savannah toward them. “Look, there are giraffes!” he growled, pleased to recognize the elegantly striding animals. “But what—great stars, Thorn! What are those?”
He stared at the enormous creatures that marched behind the herds, far bigger than anything he had ever seen. The giraffes might be taller, but these creatures were altogether massive, their gray bodies huge, their ears broad, their legs thick and powerful. The ground shook with the force of their tread as they approached.
“Elephants!” whispered Thorn. “Those are elephants, Fearless. And one of them . . . one of them must be the Great Mother.”
“The Great Mother?” Fearless blinked. “The leader you told me about?”
“Yes. The Great Mother of Bravelands.” Thorn’s voice was hushed with respect. “She summons the Great Gathering every year, and the other tribes of the plains come to her to ask advice, or plead for help, or let her judge disputes. It happens on the first day of the first new moon after the rains start, and every creature comes—grass-eater, flesh-eater, or rot-eater.” He shot Fearless a rueful look. “Well, every creature but the lions.”
“Why not the lions?” Fearless still couldn’t tear his gaze from the elephants.
“Because you lot don’t think you need any creature’s advice.” Thorn laughed. “Lions don’t recognize or respect the Great Mother, any more than you do the Great Spirit. You’re funny that way.”
Fearless took no notice of his friend’s gentle teasing. He felt that he would never again see a sight as astonishing or captivating as the movement of the great herds, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. In silence, the two friends stood and watched as the herds marched closer. Zebras, wildebeests, gazelles: their numbers were uncountable. Fearless’s heart swelled within him. I’m so glad I saw this with Thorn. Every creature of Bravelands. All of them, together.
The fur on the back of Fearless’s neck prickled. Despite the hordes, despite the noise and the thunder and the vast clouds of dust, his attention was drawn inexorably back to one creature only: those magnificent, awe-inspiring elephants.
CHAPTER 13
Now that they were so close to the watering hole, Sky’s thirst returned with a vengeance. She could no longer ignore the sandy dryness of her parched throat, and her trunk felt as if it might shrivel up altogether. She picked up her pace, her breath rasping hard, the delicious scent of the fresh water seeming to fill her whole skull.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” cried Moon beside her. His little trunk was raised high as he tried to catch the luxuriant scents.
“Yes,” murmured Sky.
The vast stretch of water sparkled beneath the sun, its flakes of light dazzling. Even the colors of the bushes felt cool against her aching eyes. But Sky just could not shake the sense of dread that had clung to her since that horrifying vision on the Plain of Our Ancestors.
She started as water splattered her ear; Moon had squirted a trunkful at her, and he was already sucking up more. Shaking herself, Sky tried to enjoy his antics and the obvious delight of the other animals gathered at the water’s edge. Two giraffes, their legs splayed, had dipped their long necks to drink, and Moon, distracted from his game, was gaping at them with fascination. There were gazelles, too, and bushbuck, and many zebras; those who had drunk their fill were moving away to make space for a seemingly endless horde. Even a leopard slunk down through the bushes to lap at the water, and not a single one of the grass-eaters flinched.
Sky couldn’t see any lions, though, or baboons. Perhaps her vision had been symbolic? She scanned the line of creatures. Could the leopard be the danger? Or a less obvious animal, like a wildebeest? A group of rhinos was staring at Sky and her herd resentfully. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to hurt us. You can tell how much they hate elephants.
But apart from the glowering rhinos, every animal seemed peaceful and happy; no fights broke out despite the numbers who had gathered. Grass-eaters exchanged polite greetings with flesh-eaters; zebras and wildebeests who had squabbled on the trek now stood together, chatting amiably. Sky could make out fragments of their conversations, and none of their words sounded suspicious or alarming.
Everyone is excited about the Great Gathering. Every creature is looking forward to it. It’s hard to imagine anything bad happening in this place.
Yet still Sky could not shake that awful foreboding. Every sudden movement made her jump and blink.
She gasped and started as a dark shadow blundered between the two giraffes, then shook her head, smiling. It was only Moon.
But he might start to annoy those giraffes!
Sky trotted over to her little cousin and reached out her trunk, trying to guide him away from the tall, slender creatures. “I’m sorry,” she told them hastily. “I’ll get him out of your way—come on, Moon. No more squirting!”
One of the giraffes laughed. “Oh, we don’t mind the little one. He’s having fun. So long as he doesn’t knock us over!”
“I hope not!” exclaimed Sky. “Moon, you must be careful—”
Sky’s words dried in her throat and her blood ran suddenly cold in her veins. Beyond the two giraffes, up on the crest of a steep sandbank, stood a maneless lion, calmly watching the watering hole.
Sitting on the lion’s back was a baboon.
All the images from her vision flooded back into Sky’s mind. A lion, roaring in pain. A baboon, baring its fangs in a snarl. The watering hole, running red with thick blood.
“Moon!” she trumpeted. “We have to go, now!”
“Aw, Sky—”
“Now!” Nudging him with her trunk, she harried him back toward the elephants. He resisted, protesting with squeals, and almost tripped over his own trunk. As Sky pushed him, she stumbled against one of the giraffes. It tottered, swaying, and gave a bray of alarm.
Horrified, gabbling an apology, Sky didn’t wait for a scolding, but drove Moon back at a rapid trot to their family.
“Sky, what is it?” Great Mother raised her head and flapped her ears with concern as the two young elephants stumbled into the midst of the herd. “What’s wrong?”
“Great Mother!” It came out in a sob. “My vision, it’s come true. We have to leave!”
“Leave the watering hole?” said Comet, one of Sky’s aunts. Her long-lashed eyes were wide. “Why, don’t be silly, young Sky!”
“Great Mother, please! Look, I’ll show you—over there!” Sky spun and pointed with her trunk at the steep bank of sandy earth.
It was empty. A few gazelles grazed beneath it, but the lion and the baboon were gone.
“They were there! Just now! The lion and the baboon, the ones I saw in my vision . . .”
Great Mother touched her trunk gently to Sky’s. “I believe you, little one,” she murmured. “But remember: elephants can see only the past, not the future. What you saw must have been a terrible thing, a dreadful ancestral memory—one that happened generations ago.”
Sky was trembling against the matriarch’s legs. “But Great Mother, it was so clear. And these ones—they looked just like . . .” They didn’t look evil, though. The baboon’s face, it wasn’t like the one in my vision. “Well, they were different from the animals I dreamed, I suppose, but the baboon was sitting on the lion and—”
“Little one, you must be so tired after the trek.” Great Mother stroked her
head.
“Yes,” agreed Star. “You poor thing, no wonder you’re fragile. Even Moon had it easier, since he still had my milk.”
“I’ll go and get you some leaves,” offered Rain. “You rest for a little while, Sky. That’ll make you feel better.”
Sky gave a feeble nod, too tired and scared to argue anymore. I’ll never convince them. They’ll never leave the watering hole because of this.
But I know something awful is going to happen. I know it!
For the rest of the afternoon, Sky did as she was told and lay resting, stretched out in the shade of an acacia tree. It did help, she realized: at least she got some energy back, and she managed to feel a little less frantic.
She was still determined, though. I know I’m right. My aunts, Great Mother—they’re so kind, and they care for me, but this time they’re wrong.
Night was falling when Sky got to her feet again and stood, swaying slightly, watching the peaceful watering hole. Most of the herds had wandered away from its edge, and many—her family included—had lain down to rest, or were dozing on their feet. Crickets and frogs began to pipe in the bushes, and the darkening dusk was soon full of their soothing song.
Sky wasn’t tired anymore; she had no intention of sleeping. She paced around the watering hole, alert for anything unusual, any small sign that would show her where the danger lay.
Because there is danger. I’m sure of it.
Not all the animals were asleep. A knot of rhinos were gathered at the water’s edge, muttering and grumbling to one another. Sky edged closer to them; they looked even huger than the one that had shouted at her and Moon. Big enough to fight an elephant. I’d better be careful.
The rhinos’ tough hides gleamed palely in the starlight; their heads were square and heavy, their expressions resentful and hostile. She caught bits of their conversation as she crept closer.
“. . . tried talking to Rockslide, but will he listen? No.”
“Rockslide’s whole crash is as stupid and lazy as he is. They believe everything’s just fine the way it is.”
“. . . sometimes think we’re the only ones who understand the unfairness . . .”
“. . . not as if they don’t see what’s wrong. Rockslide’s crash just doesn’t care.”
“. . . likes an easy life, that’s his trouble. If it was up to me . . .”
Sky craned in, listening hard. Their conversation about this idle, peace-loving rhino called Rockslide was giving her an idea. . . .
“Well, I’m not going to put up with it,” grunted the biggest rhino. “He just doesn’t get it! I’m sick of the way those elephants treat us! Rhinos have always been far too passive. It’s time for us to come together and stand up for ourselves!”
Summoning her courage, Sky cleared her throat. When that didn’t get their attention, she gave a huffing, polite cough. Four heavy square heads turned to her, glaring in angry surprise.
“What?” snapped one.
“Horn and hoof, it’s an elephant youngster!”
Another leaned menacingly toward Sky. “Were you listening in? Were you?”
“Get rid of it, Stronghide!”
Sky swallowed hard, holding her ground despite her trembling legs. “I just want to ask you something,” she squeaked. “Please?”
The one called Stronghide lowered his horn and grunted angrily, “Get out of here!”
Sky shivered. Stronghide was the biggest, and the heavy wrinkles in his stony skin did not hide the power of his muscles. Every instinct was screaming at Sky to run away.
She shut her eyes tight, then opened them again. “You don’t like elephants, I know—”
“No, we don’t,” bellowed Stronghide. “So clear off!”
“I . . . I . . .” Sky tried to steady her voice. “I don’t want to be here, at this watering hole. I want the elephants to leave too! Maybe you can . . . maybe you can help? You could make our herd leave!”
“What?” Stronghide shook his horn and gave a deep-throated grunt of fury. “How dare you! How dare you—an elephant—ask us for help! What have you ever done for us?” As he stamped toward her, Sky flinched back. “All you’ve ever done is keep the role of Great Mother for yourselves!”
“The nerve of it!” spat another rhino.
“How dare she, indeed!”
Sky swallowed hard. They really do hate us.
“Does Great Mother ever ask us what we want?” demanded Stronghide. “No! Her herd has the best of everything—elephants always do, because they make sure of it. Your Great Mother is corrupt. She doesn’t care about any other animal, and the sooner she’s gone the better! Then we’ll see a proper leader, a proper Great Parent—a rhinoceros!”
Sky had had enough. “That’s not true!” she squealed. “Great Mother isn’t a bad leader and she does care! You wait until the Great Gathering—you’ll see!”
Stronghide strode heavily toward her. He thumped the ground with a large, heavy forefoot. “Are you calling us liars?”
“An elephant,” rumbled another rhino, “calling us liars!”
As one, they lowered their horns. Sky tensed, her blood running cold as water. What are they—
The rhinos lunged and charged. Squealing, Sky stumbled around and ran.
Behind her she could hear the thunder of the rhinos’ great hooves, drawing closer. She gasped, terrified, and pounded faster. Raising her trunk, she trumpeted a breathless alarm.
This might work out for the best, it occurred to her through her cold terror. If I can just reach safety—if they don’t trample me—they might chase off the herd by accident!
She glanced over her shoulder to see the rhinos, far too close—then looked forward again and gasped. Great Mother loomed ahead, her ears flapping forward, her trunk raised. The huge matriarch stamped a foot and bellowed in fury.
Immediately the other elephants were awake and alert, tramping into line at Great Mother’s side, facing down the rhinos. Squealing hoarsely with relief, Sky hurtled between Rain and Star, and they closed in to protect her. Moon stood there behind them, shivering with shock.
“What’s happening, Sky?”
“Not now, Moon! Stay back!” Sky turned toward the protective line of her aunts. Just beyond the elephants, the rhinoceroses had trotted to a halt, and now they stood with their horns lowered, grunting in rage and pawing the ground.
“We’ve had enough of your arrogance!” That was Stronghide; Sky recognized his voice. “Leave, now!”
“Leave?” Great Mother’s voice resounded around the watering hole; she sounded even more frightening than the rhinos, Sky thought with relief. “We will not leave, Stronghide! Bring your grievances to the Great Gathering, as every other creature does!”
“We will get no justice from an elephant!” yelled Stronghide.
“Yes,” trumpeted Great Mother, her voice hard. “You will, whether you are prepared to accept it or not. But charge us now, and all you will receive is a bloody fight. You may cause some of us harm, but it will be far worse for you and your crash. Is it worth it, Stronghide?”
In the silence that followed, Sky could hardly breathe. The only sound was the scrape of huge hooves against the ground; even the nighttime insects had fallen quiet. This is my fault. If any of my aunts are hurt—or Great Mother—it’ll be because of me. She gave a muffled whimper of distress.
Then she heard Stronghide’s gravelly grunt again.
“We will not forget this insult,” he told Great Mother. “You—you will regret it!”
When the rhino and his crash had slouched into the night, Great Mother turned at once to Sky, stroking her head with her trunk, checking her legs and flanks for any injuries. “Sky, did they hurt you? My dear one, are you all right?”
If anything, her anxious care made Sky feel even worse. I brought it on myself, Great Mother. “No, no, I’m fine. Really, Great Mother. I’m sorry.”
“Rhinoceroses are often dangerous, little Sky—and Stronghide’s crash in particular. He’s
a clever rhino, and a very aggressive one. You must stay away from him if you can.”
Sky nodded vigorously. “Oh, I will, Great Mother. I promise.” She leaned her head gratefully into her grandmother’s leg.
It was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have done something so reckless. I’ll never ask rhinos for help again.
Still, her dilemma had not gone away, and those awful moments with the rhinos hadn’t wiped out the greater terror of her vision. If anything, her task seemed more impossibly dreadful than ever.
I still need to make the herd leave the watering hole.
This time, I have to succeed.
CHAPTER 14
The peaceful, shady air of Tall Trees was shattered by the screeching and hollering of fifty or more angry baboons. Thorn raced alongside the other Highleaves and Middleleaves, crashing and leaping through the undergrowth, his heart beating wildly with the thrill of impending battle. Through the blur of vegetation he could make out the running shapes of monkeys above; their shrill chattering cries clashed with the screams of the baboons until the whole forest echoed with the noise.
Berry was at his side, her face as grimly determined as his own. “We can’t let them colonize Tall Trees!”
“We won’t,” growled Thorn. “Why are they even trying?”
Berry sprang for a low branch and bounded to another, with Thorn right behind her. “My father says they’ve been pushed out of their own land by all those grass-eaters. It’s the Great Gathering—it’s disrupted their territory.”
“Well, they don’t have to invade ours!” barked Thorn. “They didn’t do this last year, did they? They wouldn’t have dared come here if Fearless was still—”
“Watch out!” Berry swung to a halt, staring at the horde of monkeys charging along the branches toward them. “I’ve fought this kind before. They might be smaller than us, but they can climb higher. They’re fierce and quick—and their teeth and claws are sharper than a baboon’s!”