The Spirit-Eaters Page 5
“How do baboons usually find their camps?” asked Sky.
“Well.” Thorn considered for a moment. “We’d find a quiet clearing, with shelter and access, but safe from unwanted intruders. . . . Somewhere that can be defended . . . We look for good strong trees to sleep in.”
“And plenty of fruit,” put in Spider, licking his lips.
“Yes.” Thorn laughed. “Plenty of figs and marula nuts—and preferably mangoes.”
“Then that is what we do next,” Sky rumbled. “We look for somewhere just like that.”
“And there we have it,” declared Nut, dusting his paws together with satisfaction. “An excellent Great Father Clearing. That wasn’t so hard to find!”
Sky raised her head and cocked her ears, gazing around at the dense green forest that ringed the clearing. The ground rose toward the east side of the glade, providing a prominent hillock where Thorn could wait to hear the petitions of the animals; that was perfect. Fruits gleamed between the thick green leaves: no mangoes, unfortunately, but they’d found figs, passion fruits, sour plums, and a big jackfruit tree. A little way away, Sky could hear the sound of Boulder and his herd-brothers as they began to smash and tear down saplings and scrub, creating a path that would allow even the bulkiest of animals to reach the clearing.
“I don’t know what Dawntrees Troop will think,” mused Thorn, looking around. “They’re in the same forest. Viper and Creeper won’t like it.”
“But much farther to the west,” argued Nut. “They should barely notice us here. They might try to drive us out, but they won’t.”
“Look what I found!” exclaimed Mud, bounding out of the brush. He held out his paws, filled with yellow fruits. One was crushed and leaking yellow pulp. “Mabungo.”
Thorn licked his lips. “This is the perfect glade.” His eyes gleamed. “And Nut, I don’t think even Viper and Creeper would try to drive the Great Father away. Not if we don’t encroach on their boundaries.”
“Spider loves mabungo.” The odd baboon loped forward and took one of the fruits from Mud, picking a little pulp out to offer it to his pet lizard. The lizard stared at it, perplexed.
Sky smiled to herself and turned her head to watch the bull elephants at work. With the scrubby bushes cleared, a big stinkwood had been exposed, right in the middle of the proposed path. Noticing that Sky was watching, a big young male called Forest bunched his muscles and slammed his head into the trunk, then drew back and tore at it with his creamy tusks. The other bulls paused to watch him, chewing and crunching on the branches they’d torn down. Forest butted the stinkwood again, and it creaked and swayed.
Sky caught his hopeful eye. He’s showing off for me, she thought, with a slight sinking of her heart. Didn’t all these young bulls know there was no way she could take a mate? Her relationship with Rock might have been doomed to failure from the start, but he was still her betrothed. She was not allowed to choose another partner.
Not wanting to encourage him, Sky turned away and ambled toward a thin old elephant who was curling his trunk and tusks around a huge uprooted mahogany stump. His feet slithered on leaves, and he dropped it, panting.
Sky walked to his side. “Can I help?”
He shook his deeply wrinkled head. “I’m fine. I’ve done this before.”
He looks so very old, thought Sky, and tired. “We all need help sometimes,” she said, and shoved at the stump with her curled trunk. At last it thudded over and rolled, and together they pushed it deeper into the undergrowth away from the new path.
“Thank you,” the old elephant muttered. “There was a time I could have picked up that stump and tossed it clear of the trees. But years go by, I suppose, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
“There’s honor in age,” Sky pointed out, “and wisdom.”
“But not much extra muscle,” he said wryly. “Tell me, Sky Strider, why do you stay away from your herd? It’s an unusual path you’ve chosen, for a young elephant.”
“You know my name?” She blinked in surprise.
“I do. And I suppose I have you at a disadvantage there. So: my name is Flint.”
Sky frowned. That name seemed familiar. “Flint? But that means you—surely you aren’t—”
“Yes.” He nodded, blowing idly at the tree dust on his flank. He met Sky’s gaze once again. “I was close to your grandmother, Sun. That was before she accepted her destiny as Great Mother, of course.”
Sky stared at him, her heart lifting in happy surprise. “You are my grandfather,” she whispered. “Flint was the sire of my mother, Mist. That’s how I know your name. My grandmother told me about you . . .” She hesitated. “After my mother died.”
He dipped his head in sad acknowledgment. “Yes. I had many offspring, Sky, but your mother was special. It broke my heart when I heard the lions had taken her.” He looked up, studying Sky’s face. “You’re as special as she was. I can see it.”
Sky’s heart turned over at the memory of her mother. It had been so long since, weak and ill after Sky’s birth, Mist had fallen victim to a lion pride; yet the grief still lived with Sky.
“I miss her too,” she said softly.
“Sky! Sky!” Two energetic balls of spotted yellow fur came crashing through the undergrowth toward her. Sky turned, almost glad to have her memories interrupted.
“Nimble. Lively.” She nuzzled the cheetah cubs with her trunk. “What is it?”
“We can’t find Menace anywhere,” Lively complained. “She’s vanished!”
Sky’s stomach lurched. No. What if the wolves who had taken Artful had taken her daughter too? No one knew where the golden wolves prowled. . . . Often it seemed they appeared and disappeared at will.
“Did I hear that right?” Thorn padded toward them and sat back on his haunches, dusting bark and dust from his fur. He peered at the little cheetahs. “That Menace is missing?”
The cubs nodded unhappily. “She’s a nuisance,” said Nimble in a small voice, “but we don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Don’t worry, cubs. And Sky, relax. I’ll find Menace.” Thorn closed his eyes, a frown creasing his brow.
The two cubs turned to each other, perplexed. Then they stared at Thorn again.
“Well, you’ll have to get going,” pointed out Lively.
He opened one eye and wrinkled his muzzle. “I don’t have to,” he told her. The cub’s eyes opened wide with fascination.
Sky watched him, her anxious heartbeat calming. She did not know what Thorn was doing, but he was Great Father. She had trusted the Great Spirit while she herself carried it; now that it lived within Thorn, she must do the same.
Mud patted her foreleg to get her attention. “He’s searching with his mind,” he whispered as Sky lowered her head to him. “Thorn can do that now. The Great Spirit, you know?”
“Oh!” breathed Sky. She watched Thorn with renewed fascination.
Leaves dipped and rustled overhead, dappling Thorn’s fur with sunspots. High in the canopy above the silent glade, birds whistled and called, a distinct note of annoyance in their voices. Well, thought Sky, the elephants are destroying some of their trees.
Thorn’s eyes blinked open. He smiled at Sky. “You don’t have to worry,” he told her. “Menace is with Fearless.”
“She is?” Sky flapped her ears. “Why?”
“I’m not certain. But she has the protection of him and Keen, and her brother, Ruthless, so no doubt she’ll be safe.”
“All the same.” Sky blew nervously at the dusty ground. “I’m not sure Fearless and Menace make a good combination. Menace is devoted to Titan, and Fearless wants to kill him.”
“True.” Thorn laughed. “But Fearless will protect the cub; you know that. He has a good heart.”
“It’s a relief, but never mind Menace just now.” Sky studied him. “Mud told me what you were doing. You can look across the savannah with your mind?”
He nodded, looking modest. “It’s just something that came. When I was with the vultures.”
“The Great Spirit’s gift.” She nodded. “I remember Great Mother telling me about a baboon Great Father who had a similar power.”
“That’s right. Great Father Creek of the Goldenforest,” said Thorn proudly. “I was a bit shocked at first—it’s frightening—but I’ve been practicing a lot, and it’s getting easier. More natural.”
Sky hesitated, her heart thumping. At this moment, she wanted so much to ask Thorn to find Rock; to enter his mind and to confirm for her that somewhere out there, her former mate was alive and well. She had rejected him, but it had been the hardest thing she had ever done, and Sky still missed the dark-hided bull with the green eyes. Rock had done so much to help and guide her, and she had been so happy and content in his company. If she hadn’t found out that he’d killed River, they would have been together still, striding side by side across the plains. He’d have been here now with the other bulls, helping prepare the Great Father Clearing, casting loving glances her way as he worked. . . .
But he had killed River, Sky told herself angrily, and he wasn’t here, and she could not dwell on him. She had squandered her chances of a life-mate on a killer. That was all she needed to know of the elephant she had loved. She would not ask Thorn to find Rock, she thought, clenching her jaw. I need to forget he ever existed.
Boulder plodded toward her, looking tired but content. “Sky, there you are.”
“Hello, brother,” she greeted him brightly. “How’s the work progressing?”
“It’s going well,” he told her, butting his trunk against hers. “In fact, it’s nearly done. My herd is growing restless. We’ll be leaving in a day or two.”
“I understand,” she said, pressing her face to his cheek. “You can’t stay forever.”
“You could come with us,” he suggested. “We’re traveling to the mating grounds. You’d find your own herd again—the Striders are sure to be there.”
Sky was aware of Flint watching her closely. She lowered her head.
“I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet, Boulder. The Great Father still needs me.”
“Sister, you’re not responsible for the Great Spirit anymore,” Boulder told her gently. “Thorn has been chosen. He needs to find his own path.”
“I know, but—oh!” Sky swung around at the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs.
The baboons of Dawntrees Troop were approaching, some padding along the forest floor, others strutting along branches or springing from rock to rock. At their head strode Berry Crownleaf, the soft golden sunlight glowing on her fur. Her expression, Sky realized with relief, was not hostile.
Berry stopped in front of Thorn, and for an awkward moment there was silence between them. Then they exchanged a slow nod.
“We’ve come to see how you’re getting along,” Berry told Thorn. Her voice was calm and warm. “Is your new camp suitable? We can offer you any help you need.”
“That’s kind, Berry Crownleaf,” said Thorn softly. There was yearning in his eyes, but he didn’t reach out to touch her. “I think we’re almost settled. The elephants have cleared a path for the other animals.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” growled Viper, slinking forward. “They’re knocking down good trees!”
“Viper,” warned Berry, “we came here to welcome the Great Father.”
“The Great Father’s made a mess,” complained Splinter. It took everything Sky had not to flick her trunk at him. Thankfully, Berry had something to say about it:
“Splinter!” she snapped. “Behave.”
Splinter gave her a surly look, but he shut his jaws.
“The Great Father’s got no right to be here, actually,” snarled Creeper. “Thorn, you’ve picked a spot that’s way too close to Tall Trees.”
Berry glared at him, but Creeper took no notice.
“Creeper’s right.” Viper nodded. “Those elephants of yours are making such a racket, they’re scaring the small prey. The mice and rats are fleeing—even the spiders and beetles are hiding themselves.”
“They’ll be gone soon,” promised Thorn. “I know it’s an upheaval, but it’ll be worth it.”
“Oh, will it, now?” Creeper rose onto his hind paws, glaring. “You don’t care if you harm this troop, do you? Now that you’re Great Father, you think you can do anything, you power-hungry—”
“That’s enough!” Berry spun around, snarling at her lieutenants. “That—is—enough! Thorn is Great Father of Bravelands, and how long has it been since a baboon was chosen for that honor? You should be proud! Respect his decisions—and respect mine! I am your Crownleaf—and I say that we are privileged to have the Great Father make his home in our forest!”
Thorn looked taken aback by her vehemence, thought Sky, but not nearly as shocked as Viper and Creeper and the other complainers. Muttering and grumbling, the troop turned one by one and went back the way they had come, their fur bristling at Berry’s scolding.
Berry herself, though, lingered behind. Sitting down on her haunches beside Thorn, she peeled the bark from a twig. She looked troubled.
As the last noises of the retreating baboons faded, Berry glanced up at Thorn. “I’ll be honest. . . . I’m not happy with the destruction of trees either.”
Thorn nodded, looking shame-faced. “I swear to you, Berry, we’ve removed only what was necessary. I had to find a place to give counsel.”
“I know.” She gave him a sidelong smile. “I know you have to please everyone, and I know you have responsibilities none of us can imagine. Just . . . please think of the troop sometimes.”
“I will, Berry. I promise.”
She lowered her eyes and murmured, “And think of me too. Sometimes.”
Thorn stared at her, a little shocked, as she rose to her paws and bounded after her troop. Her tailless haunches vanished among the undergrowth, and for a long moment there was an awkward silence.
“Oh, Sky.” Thorn gave a great sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “I know I have duties, and I have a huge responsibility to Bravelands. But I can’t shake my loyalty to my old troop. I owe them something too, don’t I?”
“Of course.” Sky paced closer, reaching out her trunk, but she was suddenly afraid to touch him. “Thorn, I know this is difficult. Believe me, I know. But you’ll find a way. The Great—”
“Ah, yes,” he interrupted, a hint of weary mockery in his voice. “The Great Spirit doesn’t make mistakes. Does it?”
Sky went still, not knowing what to say. It was a relief when she heard the sound of clopping hooves, thudding feet, and a great rustle of branches.
She took a deep breath, cocked her ears brightly, and nodded at him. “I believe you have your first petitioners, Great Father!”
Thorn already looked worn-out, thought Sky with a twinge of pity. Since the first buffalo and impalas, the stream of animals had been constant throughout the afternoon. What could Thorn possibly do for the giraffe who complained his neck was too short to reach the most tender leaves? How could he explain to that rhino that the evil rhino who lurked in the pools was his own reflection?
And as Thorn complained to her when the warthog turned its stiff little tail and trotted off: How could he advise a warthog on its love life when his own was such a mess?
Yet Thorn had listened patiently, and Sky had watched in admiration as he gave gentle advice, stern instructions, and warm consolation for lost herd-mates. Even a Dawntrees baboon had come to complain of ill treatment from Creeper, and Thorn had resisted the urge to crow about his enemy’s unpopularity; instead he had quietly advised the young male to speak to Berry, ask for her protection, and trust her sense of justice.
Thorn Highleaf had been born to help other creatures, Sky thought. He had a kindness that softened his cleverness and wisdom; not a single creature had left the clearing angry or dissatisfied or resentful. She had to crush that niggle of doubt that lived inside her.
“You’re doing so much better than you think you are,” she told Thorn, as a hyena trotted off, tail in the air, to make the suggested compromise with his leader.
“You think so?” Thorn glanced at her sidelong.
“I know so.”
A queue of animals still waited to bring their troubles to him, and she saw Thorn suppress a sigh. He would get used to it, Sky thought. She vividly recalled the crowds who had waited on Great Mother, the inconsequential complaints that were always addressed patiently and fairly. At least in this one respect, Thorn was just like the wise old elephant matriarch.
And Thorn had his friends to help him, after all. Nut was in his element, bossing the waiting crowd into some sort of order, scolding queue-jumpers, reassuring the impatient. Spider and Mud sat on either side of Thorn; Spider muttered constant advice about the animals who arrived, drawing on the familiarity he’d gained in his wanderings. The weird baboon intrigued Sky; he was so well acquainted with each animal, it was as if he had lived not with them but as them. He seemed to understand what went on in their heads, which amused her because she could not for the life of her understand what went on in Spider’s. Meanwhile, Mud cast his stones on a flat patch of gritty sand, studying them and relaying their meanings to Thorn, as the Great Father advised the latest desperate or angry creature.
Perhaps Thorn doesn’t need me at all, thought Sky with a twinge of regret as she watched the three busy baboons. At any rate, she would not interfere. She kept her distance and stood quietly observing, afraid of undermining Thorn or of bringing back memories of her grandmother’s time as Great Mother. As the afternoon wore on, she found herself growing drowsy.
So it shocked her to the bone when screeching and screaming erupted from beyond the first group of animals. Starting from her dreamlike state, she flapped her ears in alarm and raised her trunk to give a trumpet of fear.
Three zebras and an antelope stampeded into the brush, neighing and squealing in terror. A serval cat sprang for the edge of the clearing, ears flat and fur bristling. Warthogs gave a volley of terrified high grunts and trampled forward over Thorn’s hillock, almost knocking Spider flying.