“This wasn’t the work of a flesh-eater,” murmured Valor.
All across the gritty hill were strewn the lifeless, sodden corpses of meerkats: young or old, big or tiny, they had all been caught and drowned in the torrential downpour. The smell of death drifted like an invisible fog. Fearless pawed at a limp body; it was still saturated, its tiny eyes half closed and blank.
“The Great Spirit is certainly angry,” he said, his voice trembling with fear. “How many more will die if this weather doesn’t stop?”
Valor took a step back and shook her head sharply. “The rain fell,” she said. “Like it does. Come on, Fearless; we need to get moving.”
The dead meerkats had unnerved him; Fearless’s spine felt cold as he followed Valor toward a steeper rise. Valor doesn’t believe, and she never will. But he couldn’t help thinking the lethal rains were too much of a coincidence after what had happened to Great Mother.
Side by side the two lions trekked to the top of the higher slope, slowing as they neared the crest. Lowering themselves onto their bellies, they crawled forward to peer down at the watering hole.
The clouded sky was shot with silver; it looked as bright as it was likely to get today. High Sun. We made it.
The vast stretch of the lake gleamed dully; a light mist lay over it where the constant rain struck the surface. On its churned shore, hundreds of animals formed a semicircle. Wildebeests stamped and grunted; sentry zebras and antelopes stood rigid, ears swiveling and eyes alert. A hyena, pacing through the herds, gave a sharp, laughing bark. A coalition of three cheetahs sat together, grooming one another; a leopard sprawled on a tree branch, one paw dangling, tail twitching expectantly. Fearless’s gaze roamed over the huge crowd. Rhinos, monkeys, colobus, mongooses . . . all waited patiently together. Shooting a glance at his sister, Fearless saw that Valor’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“How do the flesh-eaters resist all that prey?” she muttered.
“It’s tradition. Oh!” Fearless brightened as he recognized some familiar baboons in the center of the crowd. “Look!” He nodded. “Brightforest Troop!”
“Your troop?” Valor wriggled forward a little, peering down with fascination.
“Yes. That’s my friend Thorn, closest to the water’s edge. And that small baboon next to him is Mud. His mother’s the Starleaf—she reads the signs sent by the Great Spirit. And the big one?” His voice took on a note of awe. “That’s Stinger. Everybody looks up to him. He’s the one who rescued me from the eagle when I was little.”
“What’s that mound of branches?” Valor narrowed her eyes. “Oh—is that their Great Mother underneath?”
Following her gaze, Fearless swallowed. “It must be.”
Rain pattered on the half-dead branches that had been draped over Great Mother’s body, and their leaves rattled and rustled eerily in the faint lake breeze. Little of the great old elephant was visible, but Fearless could make out patches of her wrinkled gray hide beneath the sagging foliage. It was terrible to imagine her lying under there, her flesh already wasting away. Fearless closed his eyes briefly in silent respect. Whoever replaced her would find it tough to live up to her example.
There was motion in the crowd, a shifting of bodies, a perceptible rising tension in the atmosphere. The muttering of gossip faded to silence as Stinger Crownleaf emerged from the horde, tail high, and stalked into the space before the assembly.
Fearless craned forward, his heart thudding. The Great Gathering had begun.
CHAPTER 6
“Thank you, my Bravelands compatriots, for your presence today.” Stinger’s solemn tone rang out across the rain-soaked shore. “I am Stinger Crownleaf, leader of Brightforest Troop, and it was I who requested this Gathering.”
A hush lay over the assembly as he gestured respectfully at the mound of branches. “There, with us still, lie the remains of our beloved Great Mother. She was taken from us in an act of senseless violence, and all of Bravelands grieves.”
A few whimpers rose, only to be swiftly silenced.
Rising to his hind legs, Stinger closed his eyes and stretched out his paws. “It is with humility that I ask you all: will you permit me the honor of leading this meeting?”
Thorn gritted his teeth. Surely they can recognize a fake? Stinger loves being in charge.
He turned to Mud, but his friend was watching Stinger with bright-eyed pride. And when he glanced around the rest of Brightforest Troop, he realized they all wore the same expression. Berry, a few paces away, had her paws clasped to her chest.
Thorn’s heart sank. If those who knew Stinger best couldn’t see through him, what chance was there for the other animals?
“What’s he saying?” a distant zebra brayed.
The creatures at the front turned, calling back, relaying Stinger’s words to those who couldn’t hear. A wildebeest, a giraffe, a sleek leopard, a tiny, wide-eyed meerkat: their voices rang out across the crowd, becoming a chorus of growls, grunts, and whinnies as the animals behind them took up the cry.
“Great Mother’s passing . . .”
“Lead the meeting . . .”
“Stinger Crownleaf . . .”
“Stinger Crownleaf . . .”
“Stinger!”
Thorn shuddered. All of Bravelands seemed to resound with Stinger’s name.
Back came the answers, as the herds called out their acceptance: a swelling roar of support that rose even above the rumble of the rain.
“The zebras agree!”
“The giraffes agree!”
“The leopards agree!”
“The antelopes agree!”
Just when Thorn thought he could bear it no more, the chorus quieted back into attentive silence. Stinger cleared his throat.
“Very well,” he said, bowing his head humbly. “I will lead as best I can.” He opened his jaws, his long yellow fangs gleaming. “In these days of turmoil, every animal of Bravelands is beset by worry. And so, to begin our Gathering, I invite any creature to come forward and share their concerns.”
More cries rose up as his words were carried back through the crowd.
“He’s doing awfully well, isn’t he?” Mud said.
“Um . . . I guess.” Thorn shrugged, but Mud was right—Stinger had the animals hanging on his every word. Berry smiled at her father, her brown eyes filled with pride.
A wildebeest stepped forward. “I am Grassfinder of the Traveling Herd,” he said. His hooves shifted nervously, but he held his horned head high. “In the quarter-moon since Great Mother died, our lives have been thrown into chaos. The downpour will not stop, Stinger Crownleaf! Yes, we need the rains to nourish the grasslands, but this? The savannah is waterlogged! Grass is trampled into the mud, where it rots to pulp. When we can find it, we can barely eat it. Calves have drowned in the pools! We need a new Great Parent. We cannot survive without one.”
A leopard slunk out of the crowd. “I am Climber,” she said. “The wildebeests have no reason to call me friend, but my kind suffer too. The herds are scattered; the rain makes hunting hard and dangerous.”
A cheetah hissed. “Not as hard as it is for us, cat-sister. Our speed is almost useless in this waterlogged terrain. The cheetahs starve! So do not complain to us, when you have trees to retreat to for your devious ambushes.”
Climber peeled back her muzzle and snarled. “The hunting tradition of the leopards is an honorable one!”
“Please,” said Stinger, raising a paw. “It is customary that we keep the peace at the watering hole.”
Climber licked her jaws. “Very well. Each animal has its problems. But I think we all agree that Bravelands can’t go on like this.” Her powerful tail lashed. “How will we know the new Great Parent? No Parent has died before without finding their successor.”
“Poor Great Mother never had the chance to pass on the Spirit,” a dik-dik piped up, skittering on her tiny hooves. “And now it is angry. Some of my kind have drowned. These rains do not bring life, but death.”
/> “If it carries on, we’ll all starve,” a gazelle chimed in.
“And our babies will drown.” A vervet monkey clutched her infant tightly against her.
As the anxious voices and tragic tales multiplied, Thorn noticed movement in the crowd. Animals were shifting, backing, clearing a path for Rain the elephant as she made her ponderous way to the front. As they scrambled to make room, the animals fell breathlessly silent, eager for whatever wisdom the elephants had to offer.
Recalling Stinger’s flash of terrible temper after they’d met with the elephant herd, Thorn gave him an apprehensive glance. But the Crownleaf looked perfectly composed, his face serene and solemn; only one tightly clenched paw betrayed him.
Rain’s hide was soaked almost to black by the downpour, but it suited her. She looked, thought Thorn, as if the very thing she was named for gave her a deeper strength and authority. When she reached the front, she swung around to gaze at the herds, her ears spread wide and her mottled trunk curling. Thorn leaned forward.
Whatever she has to say, I don’t think Stinger’s going to like it.
“I am Rain Strider,” the elephant declared in a ringing voice, “now matriarch of the Strider family. We elephants believe we no longer have any reason to fear. We have found the new Great Mother.”
A thrill raced through the crowd. Whispers became mutters that swiftly grew to roars and bellows of joy. Even Thorn’s spirits soared—with a new Great Parent, Bravelands would be safe! At last he could ask for help to deal with Stinger. Thorn felt Mud clutch his arm, and he clutched his friend back. Berry was whispering rapidly to her neighbor, Twig. Stinger, meanwhile, stood as still as the Crown Stone itself.
The excitement hushed as Rain raised her head higher. “The new Great Mother,” she announced, “is Sky Strider. Sky is young, it is true, but she can read bones. Visions are granted to her, and already she seeks to defend the Code—more wisely than elephants twice her age. It’s clear to us that the Great Spirit has passed to her.”
The crowd erupted again. “Sky was there when Fearless and I met Great Mother,” Thorn told Mud excitedly. “I liked her!”
“Oh, that makes it even better.” Mud grinned and hugged him. “This is the best news we could have hoped for!”
“Bring forward Great Mother!” bellowed a wildebeest.
“We want Great Mother!” cried a giraffe.
A chant rose up—“Great Mother! Great Mother! Great Mother!”—and beneath it swelled more voices, tinged with frantic hope. “Save us! Save us from the rains!”
Thorn and Mud exchanged a glance. A broad smile of happiness spread over both their faces, and Thorn cried: “Great Mother!”
“Great Mother!” echoed Mud.
The pair of them pounded the ground, growing hoarse as they yelled their acclamation with the others, over and over again: “Great Mother! Great Mother!”
Rain lifted her trunk and trumpeted over the clamor: “Come forward, Sky Strider!”
The animals craned their necks, desperate to see their new Great Parent. Thorn stood on his hind legs, peering across the crowd.
“Can you see her?” asked Mud. Thorn shook his head.
“Sky?” Rain trumpeted again. “Come—”
“I wish to speak!”
The bellow was deep and resounding. One by one, animals fell silent with shock as a large rhinoceros shouldered his way through a throng of antelopes and gazelles. One gazelle stumbled aside, almost falling, and its cry of “Great Moth—” was cut off in a squeak of fear.
The rhino’s head was huge, heavy and square, his shoulders almost as broad as an elephant’s. His tough skin hung in thick folds, and his horn—almost black at the base, and white at the tip—was magnificent.
“The elephants are wrong,” he grunted into the shocked hush. “Their time is over.”
Thorn shot a glance at Stinger, a tremor of unease in his gut. Stinger was frowning, scratching his chin as if in sudden doubt.
“What do you mean by this?” he asked the rhino at last.
The rhino tilted his horn at the sky. “I am Stronghide,” he declared to the gathered animals, “and I bring a different story from the one the elephant tells.”
Hundreds of wide eyes were riveted on him. There were no more shouts of welcome for Sky Strider; the creatures of Bravelands seemed to be holding their breaths.
Stinger turned from side to side, as if looking for counsel; then, in the anxious silence, he spread his paws. “Speak, Stronghide!”
“The night Great Mother died,” rumbled Stronghide, “I dreamed of her.”
There were a few skeptical mutters from the front of the crowd.
“Great Mother came to find me,” Stronghide went on, his voice rising, “and she led me to this watering hole. She told me to drink, and then—she vanished.” He jabbed his horn toward the pile of branches that concealed her body. “That spot? That is exactly where I was standing.”
Quietening the mutters of disbelief, Stinger frowned again. Clearly and loudly, he declared: “Dreams can have many meanings, Stronghide, and often those meanings are obscured. What do you think your dream told you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Stronghide stamped the ground with a massive foot, sending up a shower of mud. “She was passing the Great Spirit on to me. When I woke up, I could feel it inside me!”
There was a moment of silence. Then, abruptly, a one-eyed cheetah yowled with laughter.
“A rhinoceros as Great Parent? We might as well have a fish or a beetle!”
Stronghide stamped again. “It’s about time!” he bellowed.
There were a few half-suppressed chuckles from the meerkats and the monkeys, and suddenly laughter erupted through the crowd like wildfire. Stinger held up his paws, shushing them all. A meerkat gave a last hiccuping giggle, and silence fell once more.
“This mockery is not appropriate,” Stinger reproved them. “The Great Spirit has never chosen a rhinoceros before, it’s true. But is it not possible? Who are we to question the Great Spirit?” Giving the shamefaced animals a stern glare, he turned to Stronghide. “Please, tell us more. Help us understand.”
Stronghide flicked his tail. Two oxpeckers flew up from his flank and fluttered around his head, blinking their round yellow eyes and chirping. Flaring his top lip, the rhino replied with strange chirruping sounds and twitched his ears; the birds rose, swooping away into the dense gray rain.
“They’re flying out over Bravelands to bring me news,” he said proudly.
A hubbub of amazement broke out in the ranks of the animals.
“Did you see—”
“Only the Great Parent—”
“He speaks Skytongue—?”
Stronghide cleared his throat. “The time of the rhinos has come at last,” he declared. “I can feel the Great Spirit within me. I am your new Great Father!”
A babble of debate erupted, the brays and bellows of the grass-eaters colliding with the growls and roars of the flesh-eaters. It seemed to Thorn that every animal was trying to make its voice heard above the others.
“A rhino. But there’s never been a rhino Great Parent!”
“Too grumpy, aren’t they?”
“Don’t see why we should believe—”
“You can’t deny the birds obeyed him!”
Stinger signaled for quiet again. “Stronghide has made a surprising claim,” he said. “One that merits our careful consideration.”
There were grunts and growls of agreement.
“We must think this over,” Stinger went on. “What do we know?” He raised one long finger. “First, Great Mother came to Stronghide in a dream, the very night she died. Second, Stronghide talks to birds, as only a Great Parent can. We all saw him speak with the oxpeckers. And third, Stronghide can feel the Great Spirit within him.”
The animals were listening now, still and attentive as the rain pelted down. Mud gripped Thorn’s arm.
Stinger turned to the rhino, his gaze touched with awe. “Tell us,
Stronghide. What does the Great Spirit feel like?”
Stronghide hesitated. “Like . . . I’m full of something very powerful,” he said slowly. “And like I care about every animal in Bravelands.”
A giraffe lowered his long neck to peer at the rhino more closely. “Interesting,” he said. He glanced at his herd. “We giraffes would like to discuss this among ourselves before we come to any decision.”
A bushpig snorted, the thick hair on his spine bristling. “Us too,” he grunted. “We don’t trust rhinos.”
Stinger drew himself up, opening his jaws to speak again. And in that moment, an odd hush fell.
Thorn started. Animals were still muttering and stamping, and for a moment he had no idea what had changed. Then he realized: there was no low thunder on the lake, no steady pattering on the leaves of the trees. His fur was not being hammered by a drenching torrent.
The rain had stopped. In the blink of an egret’s eye, it was gone.
The stillness felt new and strange; it was as if rain had always fallen on Bravelands, for as long as any creature could remember. The animals shifted apprehensively.
Then, across the lake, ripples surged. Every creature turned to face the water, then staggered back as they were struck by a great gust of wind. It howled across the watering hole, kicking up waves; leaves lashed wildly, and three big branches were blown off Great Mother’s body to expose her gray haunch. Two of the elephants trumpeted in alarm, gaping in dismay at their dead matriarch’s body.
“It’s a sign,” Rain cried. “A sign from the Great Spirit!”
Thorn rose up to look, and another gust of wind caught him like the blow of a giant paw. He rocked back, staggering.
“A sign!” a hyena barked, picking up the elephant’s call.
“A sign, a sign!” a family of meerkats squeaked.
A terrible crack of thunder drowned out the voices. Thorn spun around; it wasn’t thunder. A cordia tree had been wrenched up by its roots and flung to the ground; it rolled and crashed across the muddy bank, sending small creatures scurrying to escape.