Code of Honor Read online

  Thorn gaped for a moment. Then another piece of fruit zinged through the air; suddenly the grove was full of flying missiles, striking baboons and trees indiscriminately.

  Thorn leaped to his feet with the others. Their mysterious attackers were nowhere in sight, but branches swayed and creaked and rattled. Thorn drew back his muzzle and snarled.

  “I smell monkeys!” shrieked Mud.

  The baboons erupted in howls of anger. “Monkeys!” echoed Mango.

  “There!” yelled Thorn. “In the bushes!”

  Fang snarled with fury. “Those little— There’s a whole gang of them!”

  The monkeys bolted, hollering and screeching. Greenish-brown pelts, black faces fringed with white fur—Thorn recognized them at once.

  “It’s the same troop of vervets who attacked us before!” he shouted.

  Stinger bounded down from the Crown Stone, enraged.

  “Don’t let them get away,” he screeched. “Highleaves—no, everyone—after them!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Thorn sprinted after the monkeys, Mud hard at his heels. Branches sprang and showers of rainwater scattered as the whole troop pursued the intruders; every baboon had obeyed Stinger’s command, except for the very elderly and the mothers with babies at their bellies. From the glade, old Beetle Highleaf screeched his encouragement: “Teach them a lesson, Brightforest Troop!”

  Stinger led the way, bounding nimbly through the foliage. As he ran he hooted orders: “Grass—circle to the left! Fang, you go right with the Middleleaves. We’ll cut those monkeys off!”

  Baboons obeyed him, two groups peeling away to follow Grass and Fang. Thorn didn’t veer off; he kept determinedly after Stinger with the main body of the assault. Berry was at her father’s side, and he didn’t want to lose sight of her.

  She vaulted over a half-fallen trunk and leaped for the ground. Just as she touched down she glanced over her shoulder, right at Thorn. His breath caught in his throat.

  Berry didn’t look hostile or resentful. All he could see in her dark gaze was relief that Thorn was still behind her, still unhurt. His heart turned over.

  But there was no time to stop. The noise of the monkeys seemed more distant now; through the gray mist of rain he could see an occasional tail, or a lithe shadow leaping, but the baboons weren’t gaining any ground.

  Thorn raked the forest with his gaze as he ran. It might be his imagination, but there seemed to be fewer monkeys now. They were splitting up, he realized, darting off at angles, hurtling into trees and scrambling toward the canopy. High above and far ahead, he could make out branches swaying wildly, leaves thrashing. They’re scattering, he thought. We’re losing them.

  The chase carried the baboons out of the trees and onto the broad stretch of grassland beyond. Without the shelter of the forest, the rain lashed down harder than ever; the baboons’ pounding paws threw up showers of mud. The monkeys were nowhere in sight, and at last Stinger skidded to a halt in a fan of water.

  “Stop!” he barked.

  The rest of the troop trotted to a halt, with Grass’s and Fang’s groups racing to join them. Stinger reared onto his hind legs and sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring wide, snout peeling back from his fangs.

  He spat in anger. “The scent’s lost.”

  At once baboons began to sniff the ground, running back and forth. But it was no use; whatever scent the monkeys had left, it had been washed away already in the torrential downpour. All they were getting for their trouble was rain in their noses. Thorn sneezed it out.

  “All right, forget it.” Stinger called them back, his snout twisted with disgust. “We’ll catch those monkeys another time, and show them who owns Tall Trees. Back to the glade.”

  The trek back was a much more morose affair. Every baboon’s fur was sodden and filthy with mud, and their tired paws slipped and skidded on the treacherous ground. Thunder crashed overhead, and lightning crackled to earth; rivulets of water streamed through the grass.

  “The Great Spirit’s angry, I think,” murmured Mud, shaking red sludge from his paws. “About what happened to Great Mother.”

  Thorn shivered. As he glanced at the sky, a paw touched his shoulder. He turned, surprised.

  “Berry,” he said hoarsely.

  “Thorn.” Her large brown eyes were steady and concerned. “Are you managing in this mire?”

  “Excuse me, I—” babbled Mud. “I’ll just—go and check with Grass that . . . um . . . something.” He loped away as fast as he could in the sticky terrain.

  Thorn watched him with a sinking heart. I kind of wish he’d stayed.

  He didn’t know what to say to Berry. Did he have to go through it again, his awful decision from last night? Yet hope surged inside him, too: he couldn’t help wanting to hear her say, I still want to be with you, Thorn.

  “What’s wrong, Thorn?” Berry’s voice was gentle as ever. “You’ve looked so worried all day. I noticed at the meeting you were on edge.”

  “I . . .” Thorn licked his jaws. “I’m just . . . shocked about Great Mother. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Not that.” Berry shook her head. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  For a horrible moment, Thorn was afraid that she could read his mind. No. She mustn’t find out about Stinger! “Berry, Bravelands is in uproar, and nothing’s certain anymore. Of course everyone’s stunned. I’m just upset is all.”

  “I know you better than that, Thorn.” Berry sighed. She stood so close, he could have reached out and embraced her. “Listen, Thorn, you mustn’t worry. We’ll be all right, don’t you see? My father’s in charge now. You know how wise and clever he is. He’ll take care of us. He’ll get Brightforest Troop through this awful time.”

  Thorn gaped at her. “You really think so?” he retorted. The words spilled out before he could check himself. “You don’t know what—”

  Berry’s eyes had widened. Thorn drew a breath.

  “You don’t know anything about me anymore,” he finished. He was shocked by how cold he sounded.

  She blinked and half crouched, her gaze veering away. When she finally spoke, her voice was cool and abrupt: “Fine.”

  She loped away through the rain to join the others. Thorn stared after her, his heart wrenching painfully in his chest.

  I had to say it. I couldn’t tell her!

  Miserably he trailed at the rear, his paws heavier than ever in the mud. Ahead, Tall Trees was a dark, drooping lump, as if the whole forest was sagging under the weight of the downpour. It looked exactly how Thorn felt. Far ahead, in the undergrowth, he could hear the leaders crying out, letting the ones who had stayed behind know that the fighters had returned.

  Sunk in misery, it took him long moments to realize that they were not hoots of greeting, but of surprise and anger. Some sort of commotion was breaking out ahead.

  What now? Thorn sprang into a run.

  When he burst into the central clearing, the rest of the fighting party was standing immobile, gaping in shock. Thorn came to a halt beside them, his eyes widening.

  The clearing was wrecked, devastated. Fruits had been ripped from the trees and flung to the ground, smashed and trampled. Broken and torn branches hung half loose; twigs and leaves were strewn everywhere. Dung had been smeared on tree trunks, all across the grass, and, worst of all, on the Crown Stone.

  At the far side of the glade huddled the baboons who had remained behind. They trembled with terror; mothers clutched wailing infants, and others curled on the ground, whimpering. Many were wounded, with vicious claw marks and bites still leaking blood. Beetle squatted in front of them all, cradling the limp body of another old baboon.

  He raised his old eyes, bright with grief. “They killed Fig.”

  Stinger stalked forward, his fur bristling with rage. He rose onto his hind legs, staring around the glade. “What. Happened. Here?”

  “It was—it was all a trick.” Beetle’s voice was fainter and hoarser than ever. “Crownleaf, they
lured the fighters away, and they . . . the monkeys came back.”

  A low, steady snarl was rumbling in Stinger’s throat, but he stayed very still. The fighters bounded forward, exclaiming in horror and outrage, crouching over the wounded, cursing with fury at the treachery of the monkeys.

  Thorn turned to Mud, who had crept to his side. “Mud, this is terrible,” he whispered. “No monkey would have dared do this while Great Mother was alive.”

  “No,” agreed Mud, trembling. “Bravelands misses the Great Spirit already.”

  Stinger had dropped to all fours and was stalking toward the Crown Stone. He halted right in front of it and flicked a contemptuous paw at the streaks of dung that disfigured it. Then he turned to face the troop.

  “Brightforest Troop. This place is defiled.” He curled his snout, baring his fangs. “We will find a new home, a better home.”

  There were murmurs of anxiety and a few uncertain whimpers.

  “Courage!” Stinger raised his voice, and the baboons fell silent. “Brightforest Troop will never be crushed! We will rise from this stronger than ever, my friends. And when we do—when we do—those sniveling, treacherous monkeys will feel our wrath. They sought to destroy us, did they? My troop, we will visit destruction on them.”

  The baboons erupted, all their fear seemingly forgotten. Grinning, whooping, they sprang up and down, beating the ground with their paws. Stinger simply nodded, accepting their hollers of adulation.

  Thorn could only watch, unease rippling under his pelt. How good he is at manipulating them, he thought. Stinger controlled the troop like a lioness steering her tiny cubs.

  “My troop!” Stinger held out his forepaws and gestured for quiet. “We need to take steps to protect ourselves during this time of change, and that must begin right now. And so I propose to set up a brand-new rank for trusted, loyal baboons. That new rank will be called Strongbranches.”

  The gathered baboons murmured in awed curiosity. “How wise he is,” whispered Fang, near to Thorn.

  “Any baboon may apply to become a Strongbranch,” Stinger went on. “From Deeproot to Highleaf, all baboons will now have a new, exciting chance to rise in the hierarchy of our troop. All that will be required is that you pass a Strongfeat: one single test that I myself will set for you. There is new opportunity for all in Brightforest Troop!”

  The murmurs of excitement rose to squeals and hoots and cheers. Thorn shot a glance around the troop: yes, the baboons who were most visibly inspired were the Deeproots. All their lives, since failing to pass the strict Three Feats challenge, they had resigned themselves to service and drudgery. And now Stinger has given them hope of power and success. They’ll do anything for him.

  Thorn chewed his lip. He had to admit it: Stinger was indeed a very clever baboon. But he, too, felt hope thrill through him.

  If I become a Strongbranch, I can get close to Stinger. And then he could find evidence of his crimes and expose him to the troop. . . . “Mud,” Thorn said out loud.

  “What?” Mud was still gazing, enchanted, at Stinger. His dark eyes sparkled with admiration.

  “Mud, listen. I’m going to apply to be a Strongbranch.”

  “You are?” Mud turned, startled. “Thorn, I think that’s a really good idea. You’re fast and strong enough—and it may help you and Berry to be together!”

  Thorn did not comment on that, though his heartbeat quickened. He simply nodded, then padded alongside Mud as the troop began to make its way out of Tall Trees. Darkness had fallen completely, and crickets and tree frogs chirped around them, the sound loud enough to drown out even the splashing steps of baboons on the move. Right at the front walked Stinger, his head and tail high and proud.

  Thorn broke into a lope to catch up. Stinger was talking to no one; he was a picture of courageous nobility as he led his troop to a new life.

  Thorn felt as if he might be sick. He slowed a little, staying a respectful couple of paces behind his Crownleaf.

  Stinger glanced back and raised his brows. “Ah, Thorn Middleleaf.” His mouth twitched. “You want to join the Strongbranches, don’t you?”

  Taken aback, Thorn nodded; then again, more eagerly. “Yes, Stinger.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Stinger strode on, and Thorn had to hurry to keep up.

  “How—what do you mean?” asked Thorn, edgily.

  “Ah, Thorn. You remind me so much of myself,” Stinger murmured. The gap between them and the rest of the troop had widened, and oddly, he seemed happy to chat. “So keen, so strong and ambitious to do well. You want to be at the center of the action, just like I always did.”

  “I . . . I’m flattered,” mumbled Thorn, uneasy at Stinger’s geniality. I threatened to expose him! Why is he being so friendly?

  “You should be flattered.” Stinger grinned. “I’m glad you’re keen to be a Strongbranch, Thorn. I can use a clever baboon like you.”

  “That’s . . . good,” rasped Thorn. He was growing more nervous every moment. It occurred to him that Stinger might want to keep him close, just as much as he wanted to keep an eye on Stinger. . . .

  “Anyway, when the right opportunity arises, I’ll set you a Strongfeat.” Turning, Stinger gazed into Thorn’s eyes; his own glinted with a dark intelligence. “You’ll prove yourself, Thorn. Don’t worry about that.”

  Thorn halted, letting Stinger walk on ahead into the night. He swallowed hard and gave his fur a shake to stop it crawling.

  Why, he wondered, did that sound less like a promise and more like a threat?

  CHAPTER 3

  Would the Great Spirit ever put an end to this weather? Sky Strider was beginning to think not. Perhaps this is how it will be forever, now. Perhaps the Great Spirit thinks we deserve it.

  She could no longer tell if the water that streamed constantly down her face was the Great Spirit’s rain from above, or her own tears. Cold, hard drops pattered constantly on Great Mother’s body, darkening her wrinkled hide to black. Sky had stayed by her for two days now. She knew that, because she had watched the sun beyond the storm clouds rise and sink, but it seemed so much longer. Surely by now it had been moons, seasons, years. Because how could Sky’s world have changed so terribly in only two days?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. When she did that, she could recall the gentle brush of Great Mother’s trunk across her back. She could bring to mind that wise, gentle gaze. Without the sight of that lifeless body, she could almost feel Great Mother there beside her, full of life and strength and love.

  The old matriarch of the Strider family had been Great Mother to all of Bravelands—leader, judge, and wise adviser—but she had been so much more than that to Sky. As her grandmother, she had cared for her ever since Sky’s mother had been killed by lions. Great Mother had always been there, listening and consoling, taking Sky’s opinions seriously, looking after her and loving her. Just as my mother would have, if she’d lived.

  Sky’s throat constricted with fear and grief. What am I going to do without her?

  She blinked her eyes open, longing suddenly for the company of her family. The grown ones were not far away; they huddled at the edge of the watering hole, their rumps turned against the lashing rain. Now and again they would reach out to comfort one another in their shared grief.

  Occasionally, though, they would turn to stare at her. Rain, the new matriarch, swung her mottled trunk and murmured to Comet. It unnerved Sky.

  A small trunk touched her shoulder, and she managed to smile. “Hello, Moon,” she rumbled fondly.

  Her little cousin pressed his flank against hers. “Sky, what’re you doing?”

  She sighed. “Staying with Great Mother. I don’t want to leave her alone.”

  Moon twined his trunk with hers. With a surge of affection, Sky realized he was trying to comfort her, the way she comforted him when he was hurt or sad.

  “I wish the rain would stop,” he mumbled.

  Gazing up at the dark, roiling clouds, Sky let the rain lash her face and sting he
r eyes. “I don’t think we can hope for that any time soon,” she said softly.

  “If the sun comes out . . .” Moon hesitated. “Will Great Mother wake up?”

  “Oh, Moon.” Sky stroked his trunk with hers. “I’m sorry, but she won’t ever wake up. She’s gone back to the stars.”

  Moon gave a small whimper. “Has the Great Spirit gone with her?”

  A cold shudder that was nothing to do with the rain rippled through Sky. For a moment she couldn’t answer. Swallowing, she said hoarsely: “I wish I knew.”

  Through the gray mist of rain, Sky could make out the next bay of the watering hole, where a herd of zebras paced, still restless from their panic after Great Mother’s death. Their leader, a tall male with swirling stripes, stiffened abruptly and pricked his ears, snorting. At his warning, his herd raised their heads, grunting and whinnying. They were staring at something behind the elephants.

  Taking a breath, Sky turned. With a heavy, thundering tread, a pod of some twenty huge, gray-skinned animals were trotting toward the watering hole. Their leader gaped his jaws wide, displaying terrifyingly huge blunt teeth.

  Hippos! They were dangerous and hot-tempered; Great Mother had always warned Sky to keep her distance from them.

  “Come on, Moon,” she said, and shepherded him gently back to their family.

  The grown ones had spotted the hippos too, and as Sky and Moon trotted into their midst, panting with fear, they formed a protective wall with their bodies.

  “Stay back, young ones,” said Rain.

  The hippos were almost upon them, but as Sky shied in alarm, they pounded on past the elephants. Slowing, they approached Great Mother’s body with grunts of sadness and formed a respectful circle. The obvious leader, a hippo with unusually large ears and a gray-pink face, lowered his broad muzzle to Great Mother’s forehead. His pod watched in silence.

  “So it’s true,” he said at last, raising his head. His small eyes glittered with fury. “The grass-eaters were right.” Tipping his head back, he gave a resounding groan; his pod joined in his mourning, their bellowing voices full of rage and sorrow.