Shadows on the Mountain, page 15
Life is terrifying. Much of the time, at least. We’ve never been safe. Neither Prowl and I, nor I and Seek.
She tilted her head, her ears twitching as she stared at the spot where Range had vanished. The blue-eyed leopard had jumped with such confidence. He had offered them security, a refuge. How relaxing it would be to be safe, if only for a little while. . . .
Chase bent her head down to Seek, her heart beating hard.
“I’m going to go after him. I’ll tell you if it’s safe.”
“But Chase—” The cub’s eyes were wide with terror.
“I must.” She licked his nose gently. “If I don’t return for you, run to the forest. Hide somewhere. Catch lizards, like you did so well just now! Grow strong, and big.”
Seek’s little whiskers trembled. He pressed his cheek to hers. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
Inside her chest, Chase’s heart wrenched. Could Seek survive a third bereavement?
Probably not. But this was her chance to find a safe place for both of them. I have to take the risk.
“I’ll come back for you, Seek.” She drew away, gazing into his frightened eyes. “I promise.”
She had to jump now, or she never would. Twisting around, she took a breath and leaped.
Cold spray stung her eyes, and she felt for a moment as if she would fall forever. Then her paws thudded hard onto the flat slab, and her legs shuddered as they absorbed the impact. Chase stood up straight.
She stared at the vertical cascade, her tail lashing. Above and a little behind her, she could see Seek, leaning over the edge and blinking down. She could not hesitate for a moment longer. Chase gave the cub a reassuring nod and sprang toward the waterfall.
She still half expected the water to crash against her like falling boulders, to drive her down into the foaming pool to her death; instead there was only the cold shock of light spray along her spine. She hurtled into wet, cool darkness, somersaulted forward, and skidded to a halt on her flank. For long moments she could only lie there, flanks heaving as she gasped in shock.
In the darkness, she felt Range’s breath on her cheek, then his quick tongue.
“See? I said you could trust me.”
Chase rolled over and staggered to her paws. Her breath was still harsh and fitful as she blinked around the blackness of the hidden cavern.
“It’s an illusion, see?” Range’s voice held fond amusement. “You have to jump through at the right spot, though. The falls are thin right there. Anywhere else and you’d be swept to your”—his voice lowered to a dramatic growl—“your watery doom.”
Chase shook herself, sending droplets splashing all over him. There was a faint silvery glow here after all, from the spray of the falls, and her eyes were adjusting.
“And now you’ll have to be patient for a moment,” she told Range. She swung around haughtily, just to prove he hadn’t scared her too much, and padded back toward the cavern mouth and the waterfall that shielded it. “I’ll fetch Seek. Before the poor cub really does think I’m dead and runs away to the forest.”
Despite the frightening jump to the wet slab, and the even more terrifying leap through the deceptively thin veil of water, Seek hung limp and obedient in her jaws. It seemed to Chase that he had been so afraid after being left alone on the ridge, he was now willing to go with her anywhere, simply to keep her at his side. When she set him down within the cavern, he jumped quickly to his paws and glanced around, sniffing. It seemed his dignity was more or less intact, Chase thought with inner pride.
There was a scuffing, dragging noise from farther back in the cavern, and Range emerged from the deepest shadows there. He was tugging a carcass—some kind of antelope, Chase reckoned, though it was half-eaten already. All that was identifiable were its haunches, and she knew she’d never seen such an animal before.
“That looks good.” She licked her chops, feeling hunger growl in her stomach. “I’d almost forgotten how long it’s been since the bushpig.”
“My goat is yours to share.” Range dropped the prey at her paws. It reeked deliciously.
“A goat-antelope? Is that what it is? Thank you.” She nudged Range’s cheek gently, before tearing a strip of meat from the carcass. “Come on, Seek; you must be hungry.”
She glanced back at the cub. He seemed hesitant and unusually quiet, though he couldn’t help approaching the prey on trembling paws. He settled down at her side and pulled at a tatter of flesh on the rib cage.
“It smells strange in here,” he muttered through his mouthful of food. “I don’t think I like it, Chase.”
The poor cub—he must still be smarting from Range’s scolding earlier. It might take Seek a long time to forget and forgive; he was only a baby, after all. Chase bent her head to him.
“The food is good, and we’re safe. That’s all we can ask for in a refuge, Seek. Don’t be afraid.” She licked his ears lovingly.
“Eat and sleep, little cousin. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Well, I don’t understand gazelles one bit,” neighed Grassfriend. He stamped his hoof crossly. “You survived a lion attack, Prancefriend! Your herd should have welcomed you back as . . . as a hero! That kind of luck—and skill—why, it means good fortune for a whole herd!”
“I agree,” whinnied Dawnfriend, tossing his head. “And they really won’t take you back?”
“They won’t.” Prance sighed, her head sagging from the effort of telling her story all over again. “I do understand, you know. It is the way of the gazelles.”
“To reject you, when the Great Spirit has smiled on you like that?” Grassfriend snorted. “The gazelles’ way is silly.”
Prance didn’t bristle at the insult to her kind. All she could feel was warm gratitude for her new friends’ understanding and sympathy. The herd surrounded her in a dense circle of black and white, their ears pricked forward in excitement at her story. Now that the tale was told, the zebras murmured and exclaimed among themselves, retelling the best parts for herd-friends who hadn’t quite managed to hear.
“Have you ever heard the like?”
“So that’s why she has no shadow! What a story.”
“What was the bit about the lion?”
“If you’d paid attention, Stonefriend—”
“Well, I’m listening now! Tell me again, because that gazelle had a very soft voice.”
Relief washed through Prance. I really shouldn’t have worried. The zebras are kind. They accept that I don’t have a shadow, that I can’t help it, that it wasn’t my choice. . . .
Or rather, most of them did. As the zebras dispersed, ripping casually at the grass, Prance’s large ears caught other, less sympathetic voices among the chattering throng.
“How long do you think that gazelle will stay with us?” she heard an old mare murmur.
“Not too long, I hope,” replied her companion. “Have you noticed that vulture who follows her around?” The zebra shook his neck.
“I’ve seen that,” put in a third, younger mare. “It doesn’t behave like a normal vulture, does it? But it seems sure that Prancefriend is headed for death.”
“It’s very unnerving,” declared the first, with a toss of her mane.
Prance backed away out of earshot and moved closer to Grassfriend and Dawnfriend to walk beside them. Most of the zebras accept me, she told herself firmly. I could never have expected all of them to be delighted. . . .
The herd was moving at a leisurely pace across the grassland, heading for the shimmer of a watering hole in the distance. The lakes and rivers had gradually shrunk over the last moon, and Mistfriend seemed even keener than usual to keep moving. The constant search for sweet grass grew ever more challenging as the dry season progressed. The zebras raised clouds of yellow dust as they followed their old Grass Trek ways. Alongside them walked herds of antelopes and wildebeests, and always, at the margins, predators lurked hopefully in the longer grass.
Prance could not see far ahead, her vision obstructed by the dust and by the masses of striped rumps. But she became aware that they were moving downhill now, into a long and shallow depression in the plain. There were marks and swirls and ridges that showed it had once held water, and not so long ago. Prance recognized the signs of a former lake bed, and as always, she found herself yearning for the return of the rains. But how could it be so dry already? The Gully River had been full and fast, and that had been barely days ago. She frowned in confusion.
“What by all the plains’ grass—” exclaimed a zebra a few lengths ahead of her.
A curious murmuring and neighing rose around Prance. She realized she had moved closer to the front of the herd as they traveled. There were only a few ranks of zebras ahead of her now, and she could see Mistfriend at the head of the horde. He was sidling past something on the ground, his ears laid back and his lip flared back from his teeth in an expression of disgust.
In moments, Prance saw what had caused the excitement. There, at the lowest point of the dip in the grassland, lay the skeletal remains of four hippos, three adults and what might have been a yearling. The carcasses were picked almost clean; only a few scraps of fly-blown rot-flesh remained, and tatters of leathery skin stretched over the bones.
“Well, that’s unusual,” remarked Dawnfriend, wrinkling her muzzle. “Hippos that died of thirst? It’s not as if all the lakes are gone. Why didn’t they go find new water when this one dried up?”
“Maybe a predator killed them.” Grassfriend tilted his head in curiosity.
“Four hippos? Don’t be silly,” neighed Dawnfriend. “Though there’s a lake right on the horizon, so dying from lack of water doesn’t make sense either.”
“Maybe they were lazy,” suggested Grassfriend. “Though if they were waiting for rain here, they were idiots. It looks as if this lake’s been dry all year.”
Prance shivered. There was something sinister about these remains, so far from where hippos should be. “They might have had no choice. Maybe there are crocodiles that wouldn’t let them share another lake?”
“Crocodiles can’t make hippos do anything,” sniffed Dawnfriend.
“It’s a mystery, all right,” said Grassfriend. “Let’s see if we can solve it, Dawnfriend. . . .”
The two zebras walked on, already arguing over new and fantastic theories about the hippos’ fate. Trailing after them, Prance realized it was the sun debate all over again, with a new and thrilling subject.
But she couldn’t bring herself to listen closely. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rest of the herd. Zebras were skirting the hippo remains with expressions of distaste, but as the dust clouds rose and thickened, the corpses were swiftly hidden from Prance’s vision.
She was glad. The carcasses had been more than unsettling. How could four hippos have died like that, stranded in a dried-up lake? One hippo alone was an intimidating enough target for even the largest predator. How could four—three of them adults—have met their deaths together here?
Prance found herself thinking about the Us, and of how it had left her—without apparent reason, since she had not died. She remembered how the zebras’ Friendship had seemed to fray and fracture during the lions’ attack at the Gully River; Breezefriend had been unable to locate her mother for a long time. Perhaps the hippos had their own version of the Us and the Friendship? It could be that it, too, had been knocked out of balance by some strange affliction. Maybe that was what had led these four hippos so badly astray.
Prance picked up her feet and trotted more quickly, almost without meaning to. It seemed to be an instinctive desire to move as far and fast as she could from the hippo carcasses. So she was near the front of the herd when her big eyes picked out a line of golden bodies trekking to the southeast, in the same direction as the zebra herd.
“Gazelles,” remarked a zebra close to her. When she turned to him, she recognized Mistfriend; she was right at the front of the herd now. “I hope those hyenas in the scrub decide to go for one of them, and not us. You see the big brutes, between the two lines of acacias? They think they’re being surreptitious.” He whinnied in amusement.
Prance swallowed hard. She couldn’t help hoping the same—every creature hoped another would be the chosen victim—but she felt a twinge of guilt too, because she recognized those gazelles. Runningherd.
And now another fear began to creep through her. If the gazelles and the zebras came abreast of one another, if the animals on the outer edges began to mingle, one of the zebras might talk about the strange, shadowless gazelle who traveled with them. Might? No, they definitely would: Prance already knew how the zebras loved to gossip and trade news. The gazelles of Runningherd might even spot her without being told. And if Runningherd start to chatter and spin stories, they’re bound to turn more of the zebras against me. They’ll tell the zebras I’m dangerous, that the loss of a shadow is a terrible thing!
Prance came to an abrupt halt, and Mistfriend glanced at her quizzically. “What is it?”
“Cheetahs,” she blurted. Her blood ran hot with shame and guilt, but it was the only way she could think to turn the zebras aside before they merged with Runningherd. “They’re lying in wait below that kopje, and if we keep going this way, they’ll intercept us.”
“I’ve always admired gazelle eyes,” said Mistfriend. “Well spotted, Prancefriend!” He spun around and whinnied, “East! East and south.”
Almost as one, following their leader and the subtler urging of the Friendship, the zebra herd swung slowly, steadily toward the southeast. Glancing over her shoulder and down the long slope behind her, Prance could see the angle of the dust cloud change as the herd turned. Despite her guilt at her lie, she was glad. Now Mistfriendherd would not come into contact with Runningherd, and her new allies would not be turned against her.
At least, not immediately. Inwardly Prance sighed. She could hardly force the zebra herd to turn aside every time she spotted a familiar gazelle.
“We steered clear of the cheetahs,” rumbled Mistfriend at her side, “but this doesn’t look good.”
Prance’s heart leaped into her throat, and she felt a thudding remorse. Ahead, they stared out over a grassy ridge, toward a precipitous downhill slope that was scattered with rocks and boulders.
“I suppose we can get down there.” Mistfriend shook his mane. “It’s not as if we have a choice now.” He planted his front hooves carefully over the ridge and began to make his cautious way down the slope.
It was unnervingly steep, but they could not turn back now. It’s my own fault, thought Prance. She had directed the zebra herd to this dangerous terrain, however unintentionally. She had no choice now but to follow Mistfriend, her slender legs trembling.
Stones rolled beneath her hooves, bouncing and dancing down the hillside. Behind her surged the whole herd, driven on and guided by the Friendship as much as by Mistfriend’s beckoning neigh.
“Oh,” said a mare beside her, “this is very high. Careful, everyone!”
“Whose brilliant idea was it to come this way?” grunted an old stallion as he slithered and almost fell.
“Prancefriend saw cheetahs,” called a younger mare behind them. “That’s why Mistfriend changed course.”
Prance did not dare look around; she could almost feel the resentment in the zebras’ gazes. She gulped and focused on keeping her footing as the gradient grew alarmingly steeper.
“Whoaaah!” The squealing whinny of fear came from right behind her, and Prance only just dodged in time as Grassfriend slid helplessly past her.
“Grassfriend!” Aghast, she watched him tumble over his forehooves and thud hard onto his flank, then slither wildly down the slope, picking up speed. His baying terror was almost unbearable. Not Grassfriend! Not when it’s my fault!
She could not breathe. There was nothing anyone could do. Grassfriend’s hooves scrabbled as stones tumbled down around him, but he could not find purchase on the dry ground. He swerved wildly again on a hummock, and this time he slid rump-first backward, his terrified eyes locked on Prance’s.
With an abrupt, sickening jolt, Grassfriend came to a halt. For a moment there was absolute silence, but for the skittering of small stones as they bounced past him and plummeted out of sight.
The zebra’s whole body was trembling, but his hooves were still planted firmly on solid ground. Mistfriend, Prance, and the others picked their careful way down the slope after him, and soon Prance realized with horror what had so nearly befallen her best friend and ally in the herd. Just beyond Grassfriend’s rump, the ground fell away into a perpendicular cliff. Had his haunches not caught on another stumpy tussock, he would have fallen helplessly through thin air, to smash against the rocky plateau far below.
“Come on, Grassfriend, don’t be afraid. Pull yourself up,” commanded Mistfriend.
“Yes, Grassfriend. Come back to us!”
“All will be well. You’ve stopped falling.”
The voices rose around Prance in a whinnying murmur, and she knew suddenly what was happening: the Friendship was at work, encouraging and heartening Grassfriend. He scrabbled forward, dragging himself on his front hooves away from the edge. At a slightly safer distance, he rose shakily to his feet and edged up the slope toward the rest of his herd. Sideways, sideways he walked, until with a last surge of panicked energy he propelled himself up onto the less precipitous ground.
“Carefully, everyone,” neighed Mistfriend. “Keep going, and support Grassfriend.”
And once again, the herd began to move, slow and steady and cautious; this time, Grassfriend was comfortingly hemmed in by warm striped bodies.
Prance felt a pang of longing for the Us. The Friendship was very different, but it came from the same sense of togetherness and unity, she knew. Along with the yearning for what she’d lost, there was the sharp claw of guilt and shame. Grassfriend wouldn’t have fallen, if not for me. I lied about cheetahs to spare myself embarrassment, and my friend almost paid with his life.
