Broken Pride, Page 3

  There must have been fifty baboons there, some even bigger than Stinger, some much smaller. All of them had the same long, clever paws, powerful forelegs, and vicious-looking fangs. When Stinger reached the bottom and set down Fearless in the middle of them, he decided the best thing he could do was stand very still, try to look tall, and let them stare.

  I just hope I haven’t escaped being eagle-food only to become baboon-food.

  “Wow,” said one of the baboons, stalking curiously forward. “It really is a lion cub.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Stinger proudly. “And not just any lion cub, he’ll have you know. This one calls itself Fearless Gallantpride.”

  “Gallantpride, eh?” A small female baboon, clasping a baby to her chest, walked a circle around Fearless, examining him from nose to tail-tip. “So where is this pride of yours, youngster?”

  Fearless flinched. “Titan stole my pride,” he growled. “And I’m going to take it back!”

  A terrible, earsplitting howl erupted from the baboons. Fearless took a startled pace back, but he realized after a moment that they weren’t threatening him. It was worse than that: they were laughing.

  The female slapped the ground, hooting with hilarity as the others whooped. “Titan must have been a terribly big lion to be able to steal your pride.”

  “Now, Mango, don’t tease,” said Stinger, but he was grinning.

  Fearless hunched his shoulders, glowering and blinking. “It was my father’s pride. My father, Gallant. Titan killed him and stole his pride.”

  The baboons’ laughter faded into gasps and hiccupping coughs. Mango scratched her tail, looking a little remorseful. “Oh. You poor cub.”

  “I will get my father’s pride back,” Fearless growled. “I will beat Titan.”

  Stinger tapped his back with a paw. “I’m sure you will, Fearless Gallantpride, but not yet. All in good time, eh? For now, you’ll have to stay with us. We’re the Brightforest Troop, and we’re very hospitable.” He grinned, an unnerving sight given the size of his teeth, and gestured to the sky. “The Great Spirit sent you, that’s what I think.” He raised his head to include his fellow baboons: “This youngster fell from the sky! He’s Fearless, Cub of the Stars, and he’ll bring good fortune to the Brightforest Troop.”

  They all looked at one another. One baboon wrinkled his snout. “I don’t know. What does the Starleaf say?”

  Fearless snuffed in a breath, uneasy. He didn’t know what a Starleaf was, but the baboon’s voice had been filled with respect and anticipation. This must be important, I guess.

  The crowd was parting, and through the gap walked a stately-looking baboon with a serious face, the fur on her forehead streaked with white. She stopped right in front of Fearless, but instead of looking him up and down as the others had, she gazed directly into his eyes. Her amber stare was so intense he felt dizzy, and his tail twitched with anxiety. The chatter of the other baboons died away, and Fearless could sense their anticipation as they waited for the Starleaf to speak.

  At last she dropped her gaze from Fearless. She raised her forepaw, uncurling the long toes to reveal a small pale stone. She lifted it skyward, and as the stone caught the mottled light slanting through the trees, it burst into glowing white brightness. Fearless couldn’t help gasping—it looked as if she were holding one of the stars.

  Finally, with a twitch of her snout, the Starleaf lowered the stone and spoke to the troop. “Stinger speaks wisely,” she announced. “A cub, found where he should not be, and brought there by the greatest of the eagles? The Moonstone tells me that this is a good omen. The sky is home to the Great Spirit, and the sky gave us this cub.”

  There were mutters and murmuring from the troop. Some of them scratched at their fur; others picked their teeth.

  “I don’t know, Starleaf,” growled a smaller male. “A lion in a tree? How can that suggest good luck and not great chaos? It’s unnatural.”

  “There’s another thing,” put in a grizzled older baboon. “He’s small now, your Cub of the Stars, but he won’t stay that way. Do we want a fully grown lion hanging around our troop?”

  “Far too dangerous,” muttered another.

  “I’m not lion-food,” cried a baboon from the back. “I say we kill him now, before he’s big and strong enough to do it to us.”

  “I agree, Grub,” called a mother baboon, clutching two little ones. “He shouldn’t be around our babies.”

  “He’ll grow huge,” complained another young male. “Much too risky. I know he’s little, but kill him quickly and it won’t be unkind.”

  “And think of the future enormous lion while you kill him,” pointed out a sulky-looking senior. “Then you won’t feel quite so bad. It’s not as if we’d be breaking the Code—we’d be protecting the troop! Come on, Stinger, let’s get this over with.”

  “I’ll tell you another thing,” said Grub, pushing past Stinger. “There’s good eating on a lion.” He licked his jaws as other baboons gathered behind him. Fearless tried to return his yellow-eyed stare, but when Grub opened his jaws and displayed his enormous fangs, Fearless couldn’t help but tremble.

  They were crowding around him now, teeth bared and jaws gaping. He couldn’t see Stinger anymore—and all the faces were hostile.

  But I’m Fearless Gallantpride! I won’t bring shame on my name again. I’ll make my father proud!

  He swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly. He could feel the hot, rank breath of the baboons on his face, but he wouldn’t flinch, not again.

  I wanted to be with my family, didn’t I? And they’re gone forever. Soon I will be too. He gulped hard and fixed his jaws in a defiant snarl.

  This time I’m not going to run. This time I’ll face death bravely. . . .

  CHAPTER 3

  One Year Later

  “Stay quiet, Mud. And still!” Thorn placed a paw on his friend’s foreleg.

  “Don’t worry, Thorn,” whispered Mud. “I won’t make a sound. We’re going to do this!”

  The two young baboons were crouched near the top of a fever tree, keeping as still as they could, well concealed by drooping leaves and yellow flowers. From this vantage point they had a clear view of the next tree, and the buzzard’s nest near its crown. If we can avoid being spotted as we run along the branch, thought Thorn, we’ll be able to jump across quite easily.

  Then it would just be a matter of dodging the beak of an angry buzzard. . . .

  The bird hadn’t moved in ages. It was tawny-colored and small compared to some of the huge eagles Thorn had seen. He was pretty sure it wasn’t strong enough to carry one of them away—not even a baboon as small as Mud—but its hooked beak and curled talons meant he didn’t want to take any chances.

  He was determined to get himself one of its eggs, though. And Mud has to have one too. . . .

  Mud tugged at Thorn’s fur with his small paws. “Look!” he whispered. “It’s Pebble!”

  Following his pointed finger, Thorn scowled. Another young baboon was climbing the trunk of the buzzard’s tree, climbing up quickly, paw over paw. “So we’ve got competition,” he murmured to Mud. “But those eggs are ours.”

  Every young baboon in the troop was hoping to filch one of the buzzard’s clutch, of course. Steal the Egg of a Flesh-Eating Bird was the first task of the Three Feats—the challenges every young baboon faced in their sixth year, and their one and only opportunity to move up the troop hierarchy. Thorn wasn’t going to waste his chance—or let some other baboon steal it from under his snout. He bared his teeth silently at the interloper.

  “Pebble’s got no chance,” he muttered. “He’s too impatient.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Mud clenched his paws, looking determined.

  When Thorn’s parents died several seasons ago they had still been Deeproots, happy to remain in the lowest rank and proud of the menial work they did for the Brightforest Troop. Thorn had loved them dearly, and he was glad they had been content with their lot—but it didn’t m
ean he had to be. If I can steal one of these eggs I’ll be a Lowleaf. And after that, a Middleleaf. And finally . . . Thorn Highleaf!

  It sounded so good in his head. Highleaves were the senior baboons, the ones who ran the troop and fought to protect it, and Thorn could not imagine anything more challenging and exciting. I’m not going to spend my life collecting bedding and cleaning up after the troop. No way!

  Besides, if he and Berry Highleaf were ever going to be together officially, he had to be of the same rank as her. And he did, more than anything else in the world, want to be with Berry Highleaf. . . .

  Never mind Highleaf, Mud had joked, just this morning. You want to be Thorn Crownleaf, don’t you?

  Thorn had laughed at that. But on a day like today, even eventually becoming leader of the troop seemed possible. The sky above the fever tree was a startling blue, but massive clouds piled on the horizon; the rains had already begun to make the savannah green and fertile, and the rivers were running fuller. A bright future as a Highleaf, a life at Berry’s side, seemed to open out before him.

  His daydreams were interrupted by a growling rumble in his stomach. Thorn scowled, feeling his good mood rapidly fade. He and Mud had been watching the buzzard’s nest for two days now, crawling a little closer every time the buzzard flew off, and they were both starving. And the rain might make the savannah look pretty, and the fruit grow plump and plentiful, but there was a dampness in his fur that he couldn’t get rid of. He could have sworn he smelled of mold. Thorn fidgeted and scowled.

  Beside him, Mud grunted. “That buzzard has to go feed again soon, surely.”

  “How long since it last hunted?”

  Mud glanced knowingly at the sky. “Long enough. It’s definitely due to go again, any moment. We’re lucky—if its mate was still around, this would have been a lot harder.”

  “But it never leaves the nest for long. What if it doesn’t fly far?”

  “This one prefers hares or hyrax. There aren’t any burrows nearby, so it’ll have to fly a little way at least. We can do it if we’re quick.”

  But we can’t wait much longer, Thorn thought, glancing at the sun. It seemed to be dropping through the sky much faster than usual, like a gazelle with a hyena on its tail. The rules of the First Feat gave them only until the moon was full to find an egg—and that would be tonight. Over the last few days several baboons had returned to the troop’s camp at Tall Trees, clutching eggs and triumphant at becoming Lowleaves. If he and Mud didn’t do the same before sundown, they would have blown the First Feat forever.

  He glanced at Mud. His friend’s eyes, huge in his small face, were fixed patiently on the nest. Thorn forced himself to stop worrying. Mud wasn’t just his best friend—he was one of the smartest baboons Thorn knew. His plan to watch and wait would work in the end.

  It has to!

  Thorn twisted his head to eye their rival, who had chosen to climb directly up the tree. Thorn clicked his teeth in exasperation as Pebble continued his greedy scramble up the trunk. He’s going to spook the buzzard. Sure enough, the buzzard spread its huge wings and shrieked in anger. It rose up in the air and swooped down on the rash thief, squealing threats in its strange bird language of Skytongue. I could have told him that would happen, thought Thorn.

  Pebble whooped in alarm and scuttled back down the tree, dodging the buzzard’s raking talons. The bird didn’t continue its pursuit for long; huffing and grumbling, it flapped back to its nest, taking long moments to peer suspiciously around the trees below. Thorn and Mud kept still, and at last the buzzard seemed to relax, half closing its yellow eyes.

  Was it going to settle again?

  “We could be here a long time . . .” muttered Thorn.

  He let his shoulders slump, but at the same moment, the buzzard stretched its wings and took off into the sky. The two young baboons watched, hearts thumping with excitement, as it flew away swiftly westward.

  “Now’s our chance!” exclaimed Thorn in delight.

  “Wait until it’s out of sight,” Mud reminded him. “Just in case it finds some rot-flesh nearby and—”

  Before he could finish, another young baboon flung himself from the opposite treetop, landing on a branch close to the nest. Blinking in surprise, Thorn recognized his heavy forehead and long limbs. He gave a groan of despair. “That’s Nut!”

  “Oh no,” said Mud, staring miserably. “He’s going to beat us to it.”

  Thorn spent half his life protecting his friend from Nut, the nasty-tempered young baboon who was now within reach of their eggs. He clenched his paws in frustration.

  “No, wait!” Mud pointed at the sky. “The buzzard’s coming back!”

  Thorn grinned. That served Nut right! The buzzard must have spotted him, and was flying back with swift beats of its enormous wings. Diving at Nut, it screeched and clawed at him; Nut barked in anger, but he was forced to scamper back from the nest and down the tree. This time the buzzard didn’t give up the chase; it swooped after Nut as he dodged and scurried through the scrub, buffeting him with its wings whenever he was exposed, and snatching at his back with its savage talons.

  Thorn didn’t wait to enjoy the show any longer. “Now’s our chance!”

  He raced along the branch and leaped for the nest. Glancing back, he saw Mud creeping carefully along, some way back, looking nervous. He sighed to himself. If only Mud wasn’t so scrawny, he thought. Everything frightens him, even that stupid bully Nut.

  “Wait there, Mud!” he hooted softly. “I’ll get the eggs.”

  Scrambling into the nest, he spotted them at once—three big eggs, cream-colored and speckled with brown. Seizing one in each long-fingered paw, he raised his head and glanced around anxiously, half expecting the buzzard to dive at him, beak snapping and stabbing. But he could still hear it, distantly, harrying a squealing Nut through the scrub. Thorn allowed himself a grin.

  But he wasn’t going to make the mistake of hanging around. Cradling the eggs against his chest with a single paw, he made the jump to the next tree, then hurried back to Mud.

  He passed his friend an egg. “We’ve done it!”

  Mud’s wide eyes shone with delight as he gazed at the treasure in his paws. “You did it! Thank you, Thorn!”

  “We did it together,” Thorn insisted. “You did all the thinking, and I only did that very last bit on my own. Now we’re both Lowleaves!” Victory thrilled through his bones. I’m not a Deeproot anymore! I’m really, truly on my way—straight to the top!

  Chattering happily, the two of them made their way carefully down the tree, handling their eggs with care. Mud couldn’t stop gazing at his; he looked, thought Thorn affectionately, as if he might burst with pride.

  It took a while, since both baboons were nervous of stumbling and breaking their eggs, but they had finally bounded a good way from the buzzard’s nest, and slowed to a strutting walk. Mud grinned. “My mother is going to be so surprised.”

  “She’s going to be thrilled—” began Thorn.

  “Well,” said a new and vicious voice. “What have we here?”

  Thorn halted, bristling, and bared his teeth. “Hello, Nut.”

  Nut crashed aggressively out of the bushes ahead of them. He looked ragged and out of breath after his escape from the buzzard, and there were bloody scratches on his back and neck, but Nut was still big and brutish, and Thorn wasn’t about to let down his guard.

  “How did you get those eggs?” Nut snapped, glaring at them.

  “With patience,” retorted Thorn. “And by waiting until the buzzard was gone.”

  “Until it had attacked me, you mean.” Nut hissed through his teeth. “Those are my eggs.”

  “No,” said Thorn. “They’re not. It’s not our fault you were too stupid to wait.”

  “Those scratches look nasty,” put in Mud hastily.

  Thorn sucked in a breath, wincing. His friend was trying to calm things down, Thorn realized, but offering sympathy was never a good strategy with Nut. Nut would think
Mud was mocking him—or worse, he’d see it as a sign of weakness.

  Sure enough, Nut turned on Mud, snarling. “Yes, they really hurt! Because I did all the work to get those eggs, and you stole them!”

  “That’s not true—” began Mud.

  “I don’t care. I’m the one who deserves to be a Lowleaf. Not you, Skinnylegs!”

  Then, before Mud could catch his breath to reply, Nut lunged, snatched the egg from his paws, and fled.

  Nut had vanished into the newly lush undergrowth before Thorn could stop him. Thorn gave a screech of fury, then jumped and slapped the ground; but although it relieved his feelings a little, there was no point. Nut wasn’t coming back, and he certainly wasn’t returning the egg.

  Thorn turned to Mud. His small friend was staring at his empty paws as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

  “Oh, Mud. I’m sorry, I should have grabbed Nut. Stopped him.”

  “It’s not your fault,” whispered Mud. “I didn’t stand up to him.”

  Thorn sighed and sat back on his haunches. He looked down at his own egg. Mud’s got plenty of brains, but that doesn’t mean he’s cut out for the Three Feats. What if he fails all of them and stays a Deeproot forever?

  A horrible thought struck him. While he was exploring the forests of Bravelands, hunting and defending the troop from monkey attacks, Mud would be stuck at the camp. He’d spend his life being bossed around by all the other ranks, fetching food and bedding, cleaning up and scrubbing around for scraps. It’s not right, thought Thorn fiercely. Mud’s far too smart for that. And anyway, what’s the point of going on adventures if my best friend can’t be there too?

  “Here,” Thorn blurted, holding out his egg. “You take this one. I can get another.”

  Mud’s eyes widened in gratitude, but he shook his head. “No. No, Thorn, I didn’t get it out of the nest. I couldn’t use your egg to make myself a Lowleaf—I wouldn’t feel as if I’d earned it.”