Shadows on the Mountain, page 6
The run seemed to last forever, but when her lungs at last burned unbearably and her legs could carry her no longer, Prance faltered and trotted to a shivering halt. Panting, she stared wide-eyed into the trees behind her.
There was no sign of the lioness.
Prance could no longer stand. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed onto the soft bush litter beneath a thorn tree. She stretched out her neck, gasping, her flanks heaving.
It was some time before her legs felt strong enough to carry her once more. Tottering, Prance rose painfully to her hooves. She took an experimental step, and though her legs shook, she didn’t fall. Drawing in huge breaths through her flared nostrils, she began to walk unsteadily back through the trees.
It was even eerier now that she was not fleeing for her life. Yet at the moment, Prance didn’t dare leave the cover of the trees. She wound back through them, retracing her steps as best she could, and when she reached the border of the woodland, she stood for a long time gazing out fearfully at the plains beyond.
I cannot stay here. I don’t belong.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Prance stepped out beyond the tree shadows onto the grassland. Her herd was nowhere to be seen.
The full impact of her solitariness struck her. She had never in her young life been alone before. But at least I’m alive.
If she could just find the herd again, they would take her back. The Spirit had made a mistake; that was clear now. Even Skip would accept that! Indeed, Skip would probably be ashamed of herself for giving up on Prance so easily. But Prance would forgive her old friend. She would forgive all of them. Once more she would be one with the Us, and all would be as it was before. Why, she probably had her shadow back already—
She glanced down, heartbeat pulsing in her dry throat. The sun was bright above her, undimmed by any clouds.
She still had no shadow.
The disappointment was like a kick in the belly. But then, it had not been so long since she had thwarted death. The Great Spirit could not be expected to put everything right immediately. Her shadow would return before the end of the day, Prance was sure of it. And I did cheat death!
Feeling a new energy course through her, Prance picked up her hooves and trotted out farther onto the plain. There was a big churned area of scuffed hoofmarks in the dusty grass, and she recognized many of them. Her herd was close after all! Head bobbing, ears pricked, and short black tail switching from side to side, she headed eagerly after them.
There was something ahead of her, on a pale patch of sandy earth: a humped shape with vultures flapping and squabbling around it. Prance’s steps slowed. It was impossible to tell what the thing was at this distance, but her instincts had buzzed into nervous alertness. Her legs trembling, Prance approached the slumped creature. As she edged closer and closer, the wobbling heat haze cleared, and the shape resolved into something recognizable.
She halted, shivering. Leap had been caught here, out on the open plain, and the lions had already finished with her. Tattered and ripped and dusty as her hide was, its markings were familiar. Her rib cage was exposed, her limbs torn, and as Prance stared in dread, two vultures began to fight over a strip of throat-flesh.
She wouldn’t want my pity, Prance told herself, as she swallowed hard. Leap was a good gazelle, and she loved the Spirit. She’s free now.
All the same, this could have been her. Should have been, perhaps. Prance too might have lain here on the plain, torn and battered and lifeless, food for the vultures and a host for fly grubs. A horrible shudder rippled through Prance’s gut.
A vulture craned its scrawny neck to stare at her and took a couple of flapping steps in her direction. Prance backed away hurriedly.
“Run well among the stars, Leap,” she murmured quickly. “You were kind to me.”
With that she twisted and fled from the awful scene, galloping in a wide swerve around Leap’s remains and racing eagerly toward the herd in the distance. She could see them now, shimmering in the haze between earth and sky, and suddenly she could not wait to be with them all again. They would be amazed at her tale of escape; she would tell it for seasons and seasons! A Marked gazelle who escaped death—it was unheard of, yet here she was, returned to the herd, blessed by the Great Spirit and joined once more with the Us! Prance could almost feel the Us reaching out to her, flowing into her limbs once more. She would be part of the herd again, and she would soon forget that her friends had abandoned her. It was the way of the gazelles, after all!
All is forgiven. All will be well!
Why, she was witnessing the Us at work even as she ran toward her herd. Heads came up simultaneously, hundreds of eyes widening. As soon as the first gazelle turned to face her, they all did, their ears coming forward as one. There was Skip! Grazing was forgotten as they stared in wonder and . . .
“Prance?” Skip took a hesitant step toward her, her ears twitching and drawing back.
“Yes, it’s me! I escaped my death!” Even to Prance, her own voice sounded too bright and strained.
Skip’s voice grew wary. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“I . . .” Prance looked from gazelle to gazelle. “The Great Spirit spared me. I have returned as one of you! We will be the Us once more, together!”
Some of the gazelles tossed their horns. Others stamped their hooves, restless and frightened. Fawns edged closer to their mothers, trembling, and older gazelles backed away, nostrils tightening in disgust.
Skip made a sudden darting motion toward Prance, striking the ground with her small hoof. “Get away with you!”
Prance’s heart plummeted. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
“Skip, my friend—I survived! Nothing happened to me, I’m Prance Runningherd once more!”
“No!” bellowed an old doe. She lowered her head angrily, jerking her horns at Prance. “You are cursed. Leave the herd, Marked One!”
“Yes!” brayed another, younger doe. She edged in front of her fawn as if Prance might attack it. “You’re not welcome. Go and find the fate that missed you!”
“Yes!” exclaimed Skip. “You know that is the right thing to do, Prance Herdless.”
“What?” Something cold washed through Prance’s blood. She could hardly breathe, and her heart slammed against her delicate rib cage. “What did you call me?”
“You heard us,” commanded Skip, as the others nodded and stamped their hooves. “You are not Prance Runningherd, not anymore.”
“Please,” begged Prance, although she was already backing away. Somewhere inside her, she knew it was hopeless. I am Marked. And it’s forever.
“Go, Prance Herdless. Go!”
Chapter Seven
His father had been right; the plains were no place for a gorilla. There was no emerald-green canopy to shade him, no cooling mountain breeze; the unforgiving sun was a white blaze of heat above his aching head. Bramble was horribly exposed here; there were no trees, no hillsides, not so much as a boulder or a bush. In every direction, for as far as he could see, lay nothing but dry yellow grass and flat cracked earth. He would at least see predators approaching, though.
Wouldn’t he?
I’m so thirsty! thought Bramble. His throat was raw, his mouth dry. He was so weak, he could barely lurch on his aching knuckles toward the shimmer of water ahead. Was it true water, or some horrible, taunting mirage? Everything shimmered and wobbled on these dreadful plains! Everything—
No, it was water. Gray and murky and unappetizing, but he collapsed onto its gritty bank in gratitude. It was a perfectly round, stagnant pool, with a single log floating in its center. Bramble didn’t care. I have to drink!
He reached down, cupping the water in his fingers. Just as he was about to bring it to his lips, he looked again at the log.
It had eyes. Slitted, yellow eyes, cruel and devoid of mercy. The log lurched up out of the water, parting its scaled jaws to reveal rows of jagged yellow teeth.
Bramble was too shocked to move. There wasn’t time. The jaws parted above his head, plunging his life into blackness, and snapped closed—
Bramble jerked awake with a gasp, his heart pounding. He clutched his chest. It had been a dream, only a dream; still, his mouth felt horribly dry. Why would he have such a nightmare? It must have been because of all that had happened yesterday: the hyenas, the shaking of the earth, the quarrel at the Spirit Mouth.
He was three years old, and it was a long time since he’d scuttled to find his mother in the middle of the night, but he very much wanted to do it now. His mother had always comforted him after a bad dream, had taken him in her warm, strong arms and rocked him back to sleep. A bolt of grief surged through him, and he swayed where he stood, feeling more alone than ever.
Any company would help. With trembling paws, Bramble clambered out of his nest, picking leaves from his fur, and peered around in search of the troop. Someone had to be awake. . . .
The closest nest was empty. He furrowed his brow. Loping to the next, he found that it, too, had been abandoned. So had its neighbor—and the next, and the next. As he scrambled up through the branches, searching every cluster of bedding, panic rose in his chest. It’s another dream. I only dreamed that I woke up, and I’m still asleep, and I just need to shake myself awake again properly. . . .
His toe found a thorn on the branch, and he yelped in pain. Sitting down, Bramble tugged the spine out of his foot. No, he was awake all right. He blinked in fear. So where was everyone?
Bramble stopped to catch his breath. There was a reason for this. It didn’t make sense right now, but it would. After all, his father wouldn’t leave him alone. Nor would Cassava.
Of course! He felt a rush of relief. Even if the others wandered off or were playing some kind of mean trick, Cassava wouldn’t abandon him. Feeling instantly better, Bramble shinned along a fallen trunk and hopped down to the ground on the other side. A gray and misty light was peeking between the trees and through the canopy above his head; not long until morning. Here he could make out the crushed leaves and the broken twigs where many gorillas had passed.
“Cassava! Groundnut!” he called out. “Bindweed! Hey! Where are you?”
The sound of his own voice reassured him, and he set off along the track of the troop through the smashed foliage.
They weren’t far away at all. With relief, Bramble made out the shapes of gorillas beyond a small dip of clearing. He speeded up, loping toward them. They were all staring at the same thing, something on the ground, and they hadn’t noticed him yet.
“Hey!” he called cheerfully. “What’s going on?”
Groundnut turned, startled, with the others. The big Blackback’s eyes were wide with shock, but he didn’t scold Bramble for appearing so unexpectedly. Instead he shambled toward him, rising up to block his path with his massive body.
“Stay back,” he said, but his voice was gentle. “Don’t look, Bramble.”
Bramble’s gut clenched. “What? What happened? What is it?”
Groundnut reached out an arm, stretching it across Bramble’s chest. Bramble tried to push forward, but the big gorilla was implacable, and far stronger. Very quietly, Groundnut murmured, “Don’t.”
Something in that single word made Bramble’s blood turn as cold as a mountain stream. He backed away a step, then one more, his pulse beating hard in his throat. What won’t he let me see?
Groundnut might have been stronger, but he wasn’t agile. Bramble ducked beneath the arm of the Blackback and bounded forward, too fast for the older gorilla to stop him. He expected Groundnut to yell with rage and come after him, but when he glanced over his shoulder the old gorilla was simply watching him, his shoulders stooped and his eyes full of regret.
Bramble’s heart raced with confusion and fear. As he shoved his way through the cluster of gorillas, he realized who was missing. Then, at his feet, he saw a mass of black fur.
“Cassava?”
It came out as a throaty rasp. The gorillas around the body fell silent. Bramble was shaking, yet his limbs felt completely numb. He stared across his brother’s unmoving form. His father stood opposite, staring down at it. There was no expression on his face, none at all, but his burly chest rose and fell rapidly. Burbark slowly raised his eyes to Bramble’s.
“Father, what happened?”
For a long, horrible moment, Burbark said nothing. Bramble noticed Moonflower in the crowd, crouched next to Bindweed Blackback. His half sister’s eyes were moist, and she had her hand over her mouth as if she couldn’t bear to speak.
He felt someone take his arm gently. It was Groundnut. “Your brother is dead,” he murmured in his ear. “I’m sorry, Bramble.”
The Blackback’s gaze was level and sorrowful, and no other gorilla spoke, not even Burbark.
“No!” Bramble gave a screeching howl of anger. How dare he say such a thing! “No, he isn’t!”
He yanked his arm out of Groundnut’s grip. Bounding forward, he crouched to take hold of Cassava’s wrist; his fur and skin felt oddly cold, as if his brother had sat exposed in the mountain wind too long. That was bad for him, thought Bramble crossly; bad for any gorilla. Instead of setting up this silly prank, Cassava should have been in his nest last night, curled up safely with the rest of them.
Scowling, Bramble shook his brother’s arm. It felt limp and heavy, so he shook it a little harder. “Cassava, get up! Stop it! Stop fooling around, please. Please . . .”
His voice faded, caught on the dryness in his throat. Cassava’s flesh was much too cold; it was the kind of rigid, lifeless chill that had nothing to do with mountain breezes. There was no movement in his burly chest, no whisper of suppressed breath from his lips. There was blood there, too, on Cassava’s flank and throat; how hadn’t he noticed it before? Bramble didn’t want to look at it, so he jerked his head away.
He had never given his heart much thought; now, from the searing pain, he knew it was breaking. He heard a wail of awful grief, and realized it was coming from his own throat.
“How? How? How?”
“No one knows,” rumbled Groundnut, shambling to his side. He seemed almost relieved that the tension had broken, that Bramble had finally seen the truth.
“We thought it was hyenas, Bramble,” growled Lantana. “They were around him when we found your brother, and they fled pretty quickly. But no hyena did this.”
“For certain,” murmured Bindweed. “Everyone agrees the hyenas weren’t responsible.”
Moonflower suddenly seemed able to move again, and she rushed to Bramble’s side. She put her arms around his shoulders and rubbed his cheek with her lips. “Oh, Bramble. I’m so sorry.”
“But this doesn’t make sense,” cried Bramble. “Cassava doesn’t get into fights! Who’s done this? Who?” Pleadingly, he stared at his father.
Burbark gave a weary shrug. His eyes were just as dull as they had been for days. “Cassava was foolish to wander off in the night,” he muttered. “It’s clear to me what happened. He went against my orders; he was determined to venture onto the plains and find the Great Parent. He was trying to do the Great Spirit’s job, and his arrogance was punished by that same Spirit. Let that be a lesson to all of us.”
Lantana stifled a gasp of shock; even Groundnut cocked his head in puzzlement. The other gorillas exchanged startled looks. Some gave Burbark surreptitious glances of pity.
“Father, no!” Bramble stared at Burbark, aghast. He clenched his fists, shaking off Moonflower’s embrace. “You can’t say that. The Great Spirit would not punish Cassava that way.”
“Bramble’s right, you know,” Groundnut told Burbark, hesitantly and very gently. He chewed on his lip. “The Great Spirit wouldn’t punish a gorilla; it knows we are the most peace-loving of Bravelands’ creatures.”
“And the Spirit itself gave us the warning,” murmured Dayflower Mistback. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Burbark, you mustn’t blame the Spirit. After all, if Cassava only tried to do its bidding—”
“He didn’t!” blurted Bramble, interrupting. His eyes burned. “Cassava wasn’t disobeying you, Father. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, either!”
Burbark’s expression did not change. He surveyed the others, then turned his cold stare on Bramble. “What other explanation is there? Your brother was impetuous and disobedient, and it was the death of him. Whether Dayflower accepts it or not—such is the will of the Great Spirit.”
It was as if Bramble’s innards had tied themselves in knots. His chest ached, and he could barely breathe. But before he could form a retort that was more than a scream of rage, Dayflower Mistback shambled closer. Gently she touched the motionless corpse of Cassava.
“I do not agree with your interpretation, Burbark,” she said quietly. “I bow to your leadership, of course. But I can say with certainty that the prophecy from the Spirit Mouth is already coming true.” She raised her head and gazed levelly at her leader. “Cassava’s was an unnatural death. An evil death.”
“It’s a disaster for us, for the whole troop,” said Lantana bleakly. “What are we going to do? Cassava was the Brightback. Burbark, say something to comfort us. Your own heir is dead!”
Not even that provoked a reaction from the Silverback. He gazed down frowning at his son, as if he was a curious plant.
Moonflower was scratching at the ground with her fingers. “There’s a blood trail,” she said, glancing around sadly at the others. “Cassava may have died here, but it’s not where he was wounded.”
“Then let’s follow it,” said Bindweed with a heavy sigh.
Bramble felt detached from his own body. He did not much want to see the place where Cassava had been attacked; it seemed so unimportant against the stark fact of his brother’s death. But Burbark remained rooted to the spot, expressionless eyes still locked on Cassava’s body, and Bramble found he didn’t want to linger alone with his father. He traipsed after Moonflower and the others.
They did not have far to go. After only a few trees, Moonflower and Bindweed stopped and crouched down.
Groundnut shambled forward. “Looks like we’ve found the culprit,” he grunted.
