Shadows on the Mountain, page 8
Sure enough, the sounds of the gorillas faded quickly. Pausing, Chase twisted her head, nostrils flaring and whiskers trembling. No. There was neither noise nor scent behind her of a leopard in pursuit. Maybe the gorilla troop had gone after Range instead, thought Chase a little guiltily.
But no doubt he’d be able to outrun them again. What was important to Chase now was getting home to Seek.
Just to make sure Range could not pursue her, Chase followed one of Prowl’s more cunning diversions, taking a broad sweep around the mountain’s flank and through a narrow gully before turning toward home once again. By the time she came in sight of the old twisted tree, she was weary and footsore. Her flank ached where the massive gorilla had struck her, but she did not think any bones were broken. And for the first time since she had evaded Range, the grief returned in a wave to buffet her.
Her throat went dry as she saw Seek wriggle out of the den. His eyes lit up as he trotted to meet her. Her own paws dragged, heavy as stones. How do I tell him?
“You’ve been gone for so long!” Seek reared up on his hind paws, batting at her cheek. “What happened? Where’s Prowl? I’m hungry!”
“Seek.” Her voice was hoarse. “Seek, I—”
He dropped back onto all four paws. Laying his ears back, he stared at her. “What? What is it, Chase?”
There was so much fear in his eyes. He’s heard this kind of news before, Chase thought, her gut wrenching. He knows what’s coming. He knows from my face what I’m about to tell him.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
“Oh, little one,” she sighed, crouching down to press her face close to his. “It’s us now. Just the two of us. Alone.”
Chapter Nine
Prance could not help herself. She might not be part of the Us anymore, but every bone and nerve in her body wanted it. It was a longing she couldn’t resist, drawing her remorselessly in the wake of the moving herd. She followed them at a distance as the white sun rose higher and higher in the sky, as the heat made their forms shimmer, as they grew ever more unclear on the horizon. Forcing her weary legs to move, she trudged after them, head hanging low. Every so often, she would close her eyes for the briefest of moments, willing her shadow to return. Hoping for a miracle.
It never came.
The day’s heat was intense now, but she could barely eat; no ripped mouthful of sweet grass could fill the gaping emptiness inside her. Her throat grew dry and hot. She must try to graze, just for the moisture.
Lowering her head, she tore listlessly at a patch of crushed grass. Even as she chewed, she recognized some of the hoofprints that had trodden it down, and her heart ached.
She raised her head. She blinked. In the blaze of the sun and the wobbling horizon, she had lost the herd. She was alone.
Her gut lurched. Breaking into a gallop, she bolted across the grassland, her breath rasping. There was a darker line, a visible mass in the dazzle of the glare . . . and there they were. Relief rushed over her as she made out the hazy shapes of her erstwhile friends.
I must not fall so far back again! Prance trotted closer, as fast as she could without breaking into a run. The forms became clearer; she could make out individual gazelles once more.
A few of the herd outriders raised their heads and turned to stare at her. Prance knew what would be happening now, though she could not feel it: a buzzing ripple of recognition, a knowledge that came without having to watch.
More gazelles glanced up from their grazing. The closest outriders began to walk toward her. Their heads were lowered in aggression, and Prance stopped suddenly, immobilized by sharp dread. She could neither flee nor move forward; How can I run from the Us?
But I can’t feel it! I’ve lost it! I—
“Get out of here!”
She knew she should have expected it, but the throaty bray from old Hop was shocking.
“I . . . I can’t.”
Then they broke into a gallop, charging at her. As panic and distress flooded through her body, Prance twisted and fled in despair.
“Stop following us!”
“Leave us be, Herdless One!”
“Go find your death! It searches for you!”
When Prance slowed and looked back, the three gazelles were already trotting back toward the herd, their heads tilted high and satisfied. Before long, their forms became indistinct, then blended back into the distant shimmer of the Us.
Prance halted altogether.
It’s no use. I have to stop trying. I’m an exile forever.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she should seek out her death. . . .
No. Lifting her head abruptly, Prance glared at the horizon, where the herd was already moving on. No. She took a step, then another, and began to walk. I’ll go somewhere. Anywhere. On my own! A mistake had been made, by her herd and by the Great Spirit itself. I’ll show them!
Except . . . she wouldn’t. A constant nagging dread pulsed in her body as she trudged aimlessly across the plain. Hop and the others were quite right; her death had missed her, but even now it was hunting her down, and it would find her. She was defenseless and utterly vulnerable without the shelter of the Us.
Every whisper in the grass, every stir of leaves made Prance’s heart jolt. Her head twitched anxiously from left to right, and she spun around at every touch of the breeze on her rump. She was sure she could feel the burning eyes of predators on her hide, more and more of them with each step she took. It was as if all the flesh-eaters in Bravelands had homed in on her at the Great Spirit’s behest; they were coming closer all the time, coming to make it right.
It could only be a matter of time.
Still, Prance couldn’t help this dragging knowledge: something wasn’t right about what had happened to her. So many gazelles had gone before her; her own mother had lost her shadow and had fallen to a hyena clan within a morning. And all those doomed antelopes had grown calm in their final hours. Her mother’s eyes had gazed on her in that dawn light, still loving, but distant and strangely peaceful. Prance remembered the grief, but also the acceptance. Her mother had died well, and rightly. They all had.
So why not me? Why hadn’t the Great Spirit touched her with that calm sense of fate at the end? Why had it abandoned her . . . and why had it left her alive to question and suffer?
Her legs ached, and her throat burned, but Prance didn’t dare dip her head again to snatch a mouthful of grass; each time she thought of grazing, she imagined sharp claws digging into her flank and rump. She could only plod on, placing one hoof in front of the other.
The ground became a little softer beneath her hooves. Prance raised her head. Only a leap away, a trickle of water cut a tiny gully through the sandy soil.
She turned to follow it, the ground growing damper and more yielding with every step. It felt so cool and soothing against her tender hooves. The rich, earthy smell of water filled her nostrils, and she halted, gratefully, before the silver gleam of a watering hole.
No Code-following flesh-eater could attack her here. The customary truce would always hold. Swamped with relief, Prance trotted toward the bank.
Something stirred a little way ahead of her, something reptilian and huge but lithe. With a cascading gush of water, a crocodile lifted its long snout and grinned at her, all its long teeth showing. Others, too, woke from their basking doze and swiveled their heads in her direction.
Prance groaned inwardly with despair. Crocodiles did not respect the sacred truce, any more than they followed the Code. These ones seemed sluggish and well-fed, but they would move quickly if such an easy meal came closer. She would not get near the bank before meeting her delayed fate.
Perhaps this was the end the Great Spirit planned for her: simply to wander, lost, until she dropped from thirst and exhaustion. Perhaps she had done something so wrong—and had forgotten it so easily—that her body would not even be allowed to nourish the predators of Bravelands. She would shrivel to a skeletal husk, food only for the scavengers.
What did I do that was so wrong, Great Spirit?
“If you don’t know, there’s no point asking it,” rumbled a deep voice some way behind her.
Prance’s weary head jerked up. She must have rasped her despairing words out loud, she realized. A line of elephants was approaching—five females and a big bull. They had a couple of older calves at foot, but no babies; it must be mating season for them. And the big bull’s broad, splayed ears had caught her unthinking cry of misery.
The elephants kept moving steadily toward the watering hole; twigs snapped and foliage crackled as they reached out their trunks to tear lazily at branches. A yearling calf flapped its ears at Prance.
“She shouldn’t question the Great Spirit anyway, should she, Aunt?”
“No indeed,” confirmed the huge old female at her side, giving Prance a disapproving look as she walked past.
Their scolding didn’t sting; Prance was too exhausted to care. Besides, she had noticed something else, with a surge of hope—some of the crocodiles had spotted the elephants and were already slithering grumpily into the lake. The big bull elephant shook his tusks and flapped his ears at the remaining crocs. He made a few short and aggressive charges, and within moments, all the crocodiles were gone.
Prance did not have the energy to be afraid of the elephants; anyway, despite their haughty rebukes, she knew they wouldn’t bother her. Sidling in among them for protection, she followed their lumbering legs to the bank of the watering hole. A tingle of happiness ran through her own limbs; for a fleeting instant, she felt part of a moving herd again.
But it was not the Us. She was not truly a part of this elephant group.
Prance was so relieved to plunge her snout into the murky water, she didn’t even notice that the massive, intimidating bull was right beside her. By the time she raised her dripping muzzle, she was too blissfully relieved to be scared.
He blew a spray of water droplets from his trunk and turned his head to gaze curiously down at her. “You’re alone?”
“I am herdless.” Prance spoke the words quietly, for the first time, and at last she accepted it was true. It came with a wave of shame. Herdless.
The bull watched her, his eyes sympathetic. “Well, be careful around water.”
“Gazelles are careful everywhere,” she said ruefully.
He chuckled. “True. But the crocodiles have grown unusually aggressive lately. They seem a little bored with their usual prey, and they’re attacking big flesh-eaters—lions, leopards.” He cast a dismissive glance at the lake. “They won’t challenge an elephant, though.”
“Then I’m glad you came along,” said Prance softly.
He lifted his trunk to sniff at her. “Why are you herdless? Are you lost?”
She shook her head. Shame silenced her again for a moment, but she cleared her throat. “I . . . it’s a long story.”
“Elephants have nothing if not time,” he reminded her gently. “Tell me.”
And so she did. Once she began to speak of her exile and humiliation, Prance found she couldn’t stop. The shocking loss of her shadow; the mortal dread of that morning; the horror of the chase and the incredible fact of her escape: it all came tumbling out in a heartfelt rush. Her voice truly faltered only when she came to her herd’s rejection.
“I tried to explain,” she whispered. “I knew there must have been a mistake. But they . . . they wouldn’t listen. They fear me now. They hate me.”
“I don’t think so,” murmured the bull. “Afraid maybe, and that can look like hate. But perhaps you can find another herd and run with them?”
“I don’t think so,” she muttered. “Not while I’m shadowless. No gazelle herd would take in such a cursed creature.”
The big elephant was silent for a long moment, looking thoughtful. He stared at the ground beneath her hooves, still unmarked by a shadow. Then he blew out another breath through his trunk and nodded.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, “it needn’t be a gazelle herd.”
Prance gave a sad chuckle. “You think wildebeests would have me? Or a warthog family? Or elephants?”
“You’d be surprised what can happen,” the bull told her gently. He was gazing very directly into her eyes now. “My own sister once led a vast herd of animals, and few of them were her own kind. If an elephant can do it, why not a gazelle? We are all capable of more, so much more, than we think, young . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”
“I’m Prance Runni—I mean, Prance Herdless.” It didn’t hurt as much, now that she said it to this great elephant. Something in his eyes and his words wakened a faint hope inside her.
“I am Boulder,” he said, dipping his head slightly. “And take my word for it, Prance Herdless. Bravelands is mother and father to all of us, in many ways.” His eyes twinkled. “And it can bring us together with some very unexpected friends.”
Chapter Ten
Even the scents of the forest seemed dulled now. To Bramble, the shadows no longer held dancing beams of sunlight or the flash of bright flowers. He didn’t even glance up when blue starlings erupted with a clamor from the treetops. Everything around him seemed infinitely dark, and dank, and miserable.
Moonflower gently groomed Bramble’s back as he crouched in a corner of a glade, but he wasn’t even enjoying that soothing ritual. He sat still and tense, watching the rest of the troop. They were still downcast, but life for them went on; they chatted, ate, and even laughed sometimes. Bramble felt as though he had forgotten how to laugh, and his pranks and tricks seemed like something in his distant past, or games played by some other young gorilla.
“Oh, Bramble,” sighed Moonflower softly behind him. “I know we had happy times with our brother, and we’ll never forget them. But he’s gone. He wouldn’t want you to mourn him forever.”
“I can hardly recall the happy times,” mumbled Bramble, his head drooping. “I’ve tried. But every time I remember a joke Cassava made, or the way he used to rub my head with his knuckles . . . I can’t see him clearly. All I can see is his body. All I can imagine is the fear he must have felt when the leopard attacked.” He shut his eyes tight. “I miss him, Moonflower.”
“Of course you do. We all do. You and I especially. But we must remember him as he was!” Moonflower hesitated, as if she was thinking. “That time he was giving a terribly solemn speech, and he fell through a rotten branch! That was hilarious, and we teased him for days. Oh, and when Father called him to council—do you remember, Bramble?—he was late and in a terrible hurry, and he sat on a porcupine. How he squealed!”
“I remember,” said Bramble softly. “I do, Moonflower. But I can’t stop thinking about his . . . his death. How could it have happened? It doesn’t make sense!”
“Death doesn’t always make sense.” He felt her shrug.
“No, but Cassava wasn’t the type to take on a leopard, especially a big one like that. Not alone, and not unless it was a last resort.” He shook his head. “My brother didn’t pick fights.”
“No,” said Moonflower, “but maybe the leopard did? Perhaps it was mad, or starving, and it attacked him first. Leopards are so fierce—so defensive, too. It might have seen Cassava as a threat.”
Groundnut shambled out of the shadows on the opposite side of the glade and sat down closer to the two siblings. “I still say that no single leopard could have killed Cassava,” he growled, picking the skin from a banana. “There was more than that one cat involved, I’d stake my own life on it. It must have formed a pack with others.”
Apple Goldback raised her head and turned to him. “Leopards don’t hunt in packs,” she said firmly. “Not ever.”
“That’s a very sweeping statement,” complained Groundnut. “How are we sure of this, huh? Do you know everything there is to know about leopards, Apple?”
“Do you?” she retorted. “I’ve been around leopards all my life, and I’ve never heard of them teaming up.”
“Well, maybe you haven’t seen everything,” began Groundnut indignantly, as Apple rolled her eyes. “I doubt you’ve got proof of that, Apple, and—”
A deep, commanding grunt reverberated through the forest, interrupting the squabble. “Gather and listen, friends.” Burbark lurched out of the trees and rested on his knuckles as his black eyes surveyed his troop. “Gather, and speak if you will.”
Bramble glanced over his shoulder at Moonflower as he scrambled to his feet. However sad he was, his father’s formal summons was not one to ignore. The council members were rising, padding toward Burbark.
“All of you,” added Burbark, meeting the eyes of the gorillas who still looked questioning. “The whole troop. Join me in the Flame Glade.” He turned and stalked away.
Moonflower shambled at Bramble’s side toward the Flame Glade. “I’ve been wondering when Father would summon the whole troop to council,” she remarked. “It’s been days since Cassava’s—”
“Yes,” interrupted Bramble. He did not want to hear that awful word spoken again.
As they made their way with the other gorillas to the largest glade in the territory, Moonflower seemed to understand Bramble’s wishes; she didn’t speak any more. They sat down together beneath the spreading branches of the huge flamboyant tree that dominated the clearing, and Moonflower touched Bramble’s arm in a gesture of gentle reassurance. Close by, their father Burbark crouched at the very foot of the tree, watching with an unreadable expression as his troop assembled.
They had been quietly settled for long moments before he spoke.
“Every troop must have a strong leader,” he grunted. “This is the wisdom of all creatures through all ages. But the gorillas are wiser than others; we have always been more foresighted. Every troop has a powerful Brightback, second to the Silverback, who is ready to take command the moment it is necessary.” Burbark paused, gazing at the gorillas. “Our troop has lost our Brightback. Therefore, another must be chosen.”
