Ahead, Thorn made out a patch of crushed grass on a low rocky incline. He scrambled up, digging in his front claws to scale the rock. How terrified must the rhino have been to stampede up this slope on his stumpy legs?
Thorn made a final leap to the top—and his forepaw slipped over the edge into nothing. He pulled back, his heart pounding. Edging forward once more, he peered down through disturbed dust. The rocks sloped a little farther, then broke into a sheer drop.
Thorn swallowed. He didn’t want to look, but he had to. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then, bracing himself, edged down the slope and peered at the foot of the cliff.
A gray mass huddled there, broken.
The rock face was impossibly steep, but Thorn could make out little outcroppings and ridges of stone. Finding them mostly by touch, he backed down the cliff, clinging to the feeble handholds with uncertain paws. Halfway down he caught hold of a jutting stone that snapped away; Thorn swung wildly, snatching at any hold he could. Finding purchase at last, he hugged the cliff tightly. When he could bear to move again, he lowered himself more slowly, one paw at a time.
Was the rhino even alive? The dark shape down there was terribly still. Failure tasted sour in Thorn’s mouth. His only chance of bringing down Stinger might have died with Stronghide.
When his trembling paws hit flat solid ground, he rubbed dust from his eyes, then crept toward the motionless rhino. He was almost close enough to touch him when Stronghide’s tail jerked.
He stifled a yelp. The rhino was alive, then. Thorn scratched at his chest nervously. He’d seen plenty of wounded animals, and he knew pain could make any creature dangerous—let alone a rhino.
But Stronghide’s eyes were slits of dull black, and his breathing was ragged. There was a bloody gash on the thick hide of his belly, and one of his legs was twisted unnaturally beneath him. Thorn felt a strong pang of pity. Stronghide had lied, he had murdered Great Mother, but no animal deserved this awful fate.
As Thorn moved forward, a dislodged pebble rolled, and Stronghide’s eyes opened. Thorn froze. Those small eyes widened, and the rhino staggered up and lurched away, tossing his horn and dragging one foreleg. He swayed, then fell heavily to his knees with a grunt of pain.
He’s afraid of me, Thorn realized, shocked.
“Get on with it,” Stronghide panted, half rising again. His legs shook violently, and he collapsed into the mud. “Finish me off.”
“What?” Thorn exclaimed. “Why would I do that?”
Stronghide glared. “That’s why your master sent you, isn’t it? To make sure I’m dead?”
“No one sent me,” Thorn growled. “I don’t have any master. I came to talk to you.”
The rhino grunted, eyeing him with mistrust.
“I was there when the other animals drove you away,” Thorn said, squatting by his huge head. “Right before you ran, you said there were things no one else knew. What did you mean?”
The big rhinoceros was silent for so long, Thorn was afraid he was already dead. But as he tensed and leaned closer, Stronghide shifted and groaned.
“He could talk an animal into anything,” he mumbled. “You should know . . . what he’s capable of.”
Above them, a guttural screech split the burning sky. With a fearful snort, Stronghide jerked his horn at the sky. Three vultures were circling, their flight path bringing them ever lower and closer, their keen eyes fixed on Stronghide.
“Go away,” Thorn cried, waving his paws. “You’re not wanted!”
The birds’ bald heads dipped to stare at Thorn. After a moment, their wingtips twitched, and they soared out of sight beyond the ridge of the gully. Thorn watched them go, surprised beyond words that they’d obeyed him.
Maybe Stronghide isn’t dying after all?
Thorn turned urgently back to him. “Do you mean Stinger? Did he talk you into all this?”
“Who else?” Stronghide rasped.
Thorn slumped down in the dust, his head reeling. It was what he’d suspected from the moment he saw Stronghide cornered by the watering hole—perhaps, deep down, he’d known it all along—but certainty was a horrible thing. Stinger was behind Great Mother’s death.
Stronghide dragged a pale tongue across his upper lip. “I was so angry with the elephants,” he whispered. “And Stinger talked and talked. I don’t know how, but I sort of saw it. His words, they made sense in my head. Killing Great Mother, becoming Great Father, it was the only thing to do. The right thing. A noble thing.” He gave a rattling cough. “And now I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense anymore. I should never have listened to Stinger.” His eyelids drifted lower. “If he came to me now, I’d run my horn through him.”
Thorn clutched his head to stop it spinning. Stinger’s plan had been fully formed, laid out in his mind as neatly as fruit at a Council feast. He must have planned for so long: waiting for a chance to turn a powerful animal against Great Mother, taking the time to coax and convince Stronghide.
What had been happening in Tall Trees, back when Stinger had first visited Stronghide? Nothing that Thorn could remember—everything had seemed normal, yet all along Stinger had been planning Great Mother’s death.
Well, he hasn’t planned on me.
“I’m going to get rid of him.” Tentatively he stroked the rhino’s horn; Stronghide’s eyes looked distant. “I don’t know how, but I’ll do it.”
Stronghide coughed. “You? Get rid of Stinger? You can’t.”
“I have to.”
Stronghide’s tongue lolled. “Good luck, young baboon. Now leave me in peace.” His voice was barely audible. “I failed as Great Father, but there’s one thing I have learned.” He gazed up at three black shapes that once again wheeled overhead. “The vultures always know when death is coming.”
Why why why? Why would he do it?
The trudge back to the hyena den was long and slow beneath the glare of the sun; its heat turned the whole savannah into a wobbling blur of pallid brown and yellow. Thorn barely cared that his throat ached from thirst; the agony of not knowing was worse. Why kill Great Mother, only to set up his own stooge of a Great Father for failure and death?
Thorn stared unseeing at the horizon as he padded wearily along. Think like Stinger. What would he do?
And suddenly, like lightning striking, he remembered what Stinger had said only days ago. A baboon could do a better job. . . .
Thorn’s heart hammered against his ribs. Stinger knew Stronghide was useless. He told everyone so; he didn’t try to hide it. He knew Bravelands would want a Great Father who was strong, and decisive, and clever. He’d always known it. He’d known that when Stronghide failed, the herds would turn to a creature who could lead them through the crisis.
Stinger.
Thorn broke into a panicked sprint. He could not let this happen. It would be a catastrophe; Bravelands might never recover. Words thrummed in his head, over and over again.
Only kill to survive. Only kill to survive. The Code told him what to do. The Code would guide him.
If Bravelands was to survive, he must kill Stinger.
CHAPTER 28
Fang Strongbranch was obsessively focused on a termite mound, breaking away chunks of red earth to dig into the secret tunnels beneath. As Thorn approached, the big baboon plucked out a termite and popped it into his mouth.
“Fang,” Thorn greeted him. He could hardly keep his breathing steady.
Fang spun around. “You!” He curled his muzzle. “Very funny trick, lacing the food with sweetpulp. Ha-ha.”
“Has Stinger been asking for me?”
“Yes, he has,” sneered Fang. “And you’re in trouble. He’s been wondering where you got to.”
“Good,” said Thorn, nodding humbly. “I’ll explain myself. Will you ask him to meet me here?”
“Why?” asked Fang sharply.
“Because I want to meet him alone. I want to talk to him. If he doesn’t come by himself,” said Thorn, raising challenging eyes to Fan
g, “I’ll vanish again.”
Fang glared, his jaws working on a termite. “I don’t take orders from you. But fine, I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll let us know what you say, anyway.”
As soon as Fang slouched out of sight, Thorn peered around frantically. A slab of rock jutted from a small escarpment; it would have to do. Thorn loped behind it, his heart thundering.
If I don’t win this fight, Stinger will kill me. He knew it with certainty. But what if I do succeed?
The troop will probably kill me instead.
Berry would never forgive him, he knew. That cut him to the heart, but it couldn’t be helped. It had to be done. Bravelands needed him to act; every creature’s life depended on it. He had no choice.
The wait seemed endless, and the heat only grew worse, glaring off the pale rocks around him. He felt faint with it, but he couldn’t let himself pass out. He did not even dare shift position; he could only endure the scorching blaze on his fur and flesh.
Footsteps.
Thorn recognized them at once as Stinger’s. Half surprised, half fiercely glad, Thorn felt for one of the chunks of loose rock that lay scattered around him.
Stinger stopped, scratching his muzzle. He looked entirely unconcerned that he’d been summoned to a one-on-one meeting. He doesn’t fear me, thought Thorn grimly. He should.
For a moment Thorn shut his eyes tight, bringing to mind Bark Crownleaf’s murdered body. He remembered her smashed skull; her face forever twisted in shock at the betrayal. It seemed a kind of justice that Stinger would die the same way.
Stinger looked puzzled for the first time. Frowning, he turned impatiently to gaze around, and in that moment his back was to Thorn.
Now or never. Thorn sprang from his hiding place, raised the stone, and lunged.
And at precisely the same moment, Stinger spun back, and his amber eyes glowed on Thorn’s.
Thorn stumbled, hesitated, froze.
His hand trembled, the rock suddenly far too heavy. As Stinger’s golden stare held his, all the air was sucked from Thorn’s chest. In a horrible instant he was sharply aware of how much bigger Stinger was, how much stronger and faster.
Stinger glanced from Thorn’s face to the rock in his paw and, quite unexpectedly, smiled.
“Put it down, Thorn,” he said pleasantly.
Thorn’s paw dropped to his side.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Stinger said. “I knew you would try to kill me.”
Thorn stumbled backward a step. His ribs felt as if they were crushing his heart. “No.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s not . . . you can’t have . . .” Thorn could hardly draw a breath. “You . . .”
“Your view of the world is far too simplistic, Thorn.” Stinger gave a sigh. “You think I deserve to die because I did something wrong?”
Thorn’s tongue felt dry and thick in his mouth. “You’re a murderer,” he whispered.
Stinger gazed, his eyes bright and almost amused. “It’s in the nature of achieving power to do bad things,” he said softly. “You see, Thorn, it’s like this. . . .”
He moved so fast, Thorn never saw him coming. Stinger was on him before Thorn knew he’d sprung, and Thorn was slammed backward onto the ground. His skull rang with the impact. Stinger was on top of him, his long fingers wrapped around his throat, and he gasped in pain as claws dug into his skin. Stinger scrabbled at Thorn’s paw with his own, and Thorn felt his rock wrenched from his grasp.
Through watering eyes, Thorn saw Stinger raise the rock high. His skull would be cracked like an egg, just like Bark’s. . . .
Stinger’s eyes gleamed with vicious joy, and for an instant his grip on Thorn’s throat loosened. Lunging, Thorn sank his teeth into the Crownleaf’s arm.
With a yelp of pain, Stinger released him. Panting, wriggling, Thorn dragged himself paw by paw from beneath him, but at the last moment he felt Stinger’s claws sink into his hind leg.
Snarling, Thorn twisted to grapple with him. The two baboons rolled on the hard earth, biting, scratching, tearing.
For a triumphant moment, Stinger was pinned beneath him. Thorn reared back to strike, all his misgivings forgotten. I have to kill him!
Then powerful paws seized his shoulders, dragging him away. Through blurred, bloody vision, he saw Stinger stagger to his feet, and he couldn’t bear it. “No!” he howled. “No!”
“Shut up.” A paw clouted the side of his head, sending him spinning into the dust; then he was dragged up again. Fang’s ugly face leered at him.
“I lied,” the Strongbranch snarled. “You think I’d let Stinger come alone?”
Grass shoved past Fang, gripping a stone. Thorn had enough time to recognize his own weapon—the one that should have killed Stinger and saved Bravelands—before it was slammed into the side of his skull.
Then there was only darkness.
“Trickery and treason.” The voice swam into Thorn’s consciousness, solemn and calm and strong. “It was my fault. Forgive me, creatures of Bravelands. I should have known.”
The voice was one he knew, one he hated with all his heart. It was enough to give Thorn the strength to shove himself half upright. Groggily, he tried to focus.
“You all believed in Stronghide, but so did I.” The voice rang out in clear, sunlit air. “That belief, that faith, blinded me to his deceit. To the fact that he could not possibly be the Great Parent.”
Thorn blinked hard as the scene came into focus. Great herds were ranged before him: zebras, wildebeests, and gazelles. He could make out leopards and cheetahs, meerkats and hippos; monkeys loitered in branches that rippled with reflected water light. I’m at the watering hole. At a Great Gathering. And I’m the center of it.
Fear shot through him, and he tried to lurch to his feet, but Grass and Fly grabbed his shoulders, shoving him back to the ground.
Every creature watched Stinger intently. Animals nearby were repeating his words, relaying them back through the crowd: “Trickery and treason . . .”
“The Great Parent is the heart of Bravelands,” Stinger went on. “They must be able to solve problems, must understand the news brought from every corner. They must advise, they must judge, and most importantly, they must let the Great Spirit speak through them.”
“They must advise, they must judge . . .”
“Let the Great Spirit speak . . .”
Stinger sighed and spread his paws. “Stronghide fooled us all,” he declared mournfully. “But we must pick ourselves up and go on. We need a new Great Parent.”
Horror clutched at Thorn’s belly. This was it—the endpoint of all Stinger’s plans. He was making his move right now, and only Thorn knew it.
He struggled in Grass’s grip. “Don’t listen to Stinger!” he howled. “He’s a murderer!”
Stinger shook his head and slanted his eyes.
“Thorn, you fool,” he whispered, so softly that only Thorn could hear.
Thorn strained against the powerful arms that pinned him. Gasping, he twisted his head to stare imploringly at the herds. “He tricked Stronghide into killing Great Mother,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Stinger knew Stronghide would fail, that you’d drive him away. He knew you’d need a strong replacement. He planned it because he wants to be the Great Father!”
For the first time, he met Stinger’s gaze. Thorn expected him to be angry. Furious. Perhaps frightened, too.
But Stinger looked, if anything, chillingly triumphant. His eyes were cold, but the corners of his lips twisted in a small, secretive smile. And the nearest animals weren’t passing Thorn’s words to their herds; they were staring at him in disgust. The anger that had carried Thorn this far collapsed, and he faltered.
“May I speak now, Thorn Strongbranch?” Stinger asked, his voice clear and carrying.
“Please,” Thorn begged the animals close to him. “You must believe—”
“Every word from Thorn’s mouth is a lie,” Stinger said crisply. “He’s bee
n working against the Great Spirit for many moons now.”
“A lie,” the animals at the front repeated.
“No!” Thorn yelped. “It’s not true!”
Stinger grabbed Thorn’s arm. His fingers dug in, the claws biting painfully. Thorn fought to pull away, but the Strongbranches held him in place.
“Thorn was like a son to me,” Stinger told the crowd; his tone was achingly sad. “It was hard to believe the truth. I did not recognize his pride, his lethal ambition.” He shook his head, as if he hated what he must say. “I waited too long, I hoped too long. And Thorn murdered two Crownleaves.”
A gang of meerkats gasped in unison as they turned to Thorn. An elderly gazelle glared at him with loathing.
“Murder . . . murder . . . murder . . .”
The words were spreading from creature to creature, across the banks and up the hillside, like a storm cloud rolling over the sky. As it reached each family or herd, they turned toward Thorn. He could feel hundreds of eyes piercing him, filled with horror and disgust.
“I didn’t!” Thorn screamed. His heart thrashed against his ribs.
“He used my daughter. Made Berry think he loved her.” Stinger’s clear voice cracked, and almost broke. “Just to get close to me. You tried to kill me too, didn’t you?” His eyes glittered on Thorn. “If I hadn’t acted quickly, you’d have smashed my skull with a rock.”
Thorn gaped at him, every breath stinging his lungs.
“You can’t deny it, can you?” Stinger cocked his head, those amber eyes still brimming with sadness.
“I had to . . . I . . .” Nausea stirred in his gut. All this time, Stinger had been plain-lengths ahead of him.
“How could you?”
Through all the brays and roars and bellows of disgust, he heard a voice he loved. Thorn lifted his head, feeling true despair swamp him. Berry.
She stood there before him, half supported between Blossom and Petal Goodleaf, the whole troop ranged protectively around her. For a moment, all Thorn felt was utter relief. Berry was thin and drawn, her tail a ragged stump, but she was alive.