“Perhaps other Clans have lost cats too,” Hawkfrost meowed. “We should try to find out. They might know more than we do.”
“True,” Mistyfoot agreed. Casting a grim look back toward the bank where the WindClan cats had gathered to drink, she added, “It will be easy enough to ask WindClan. But no cat will be able to speak to ShadowClan until the Gathering.”
“That’s not long now,” Leafpaw remarked.
“Are you sure it will be easy to speak with WindClan?” Sorreltail ventured boldly, as if she were challenging Mistyfoot to admit that WindClan still drank freely inside RiverClan borders.
Mistyfoot drew back a pace, suddenly taller and with eyes like cold fire. From anxiously sharing her worries with Leafpaw, she had become the RiverClan deputy again, guarding her Clan’s weaknesses. “I suppose you saw what happened,” she hissed. “Tallstar has broken the spirit of his agreement with Leopardstar. She allowed them to come down to the river only because they had no water in their own territory, and he knows it.”
“We should drive them off!” Hawkfrost’s voice was hard, and his pale blue eyes stared stonily in the direction where the WindClan cats had disappeared.
“You know Leopardstar has forbidden that.” Mistyfoot’s tone suggested she had gone over this argument before. “She says that she’ll keep her word no matter what Tallstar does.”
Hawkfrost bowed his head in agreement, but Leafpaw noticed that his claws flexed in and out as if he itched to rake them over the pelts of the cats who had invaded his Clan’s territory. Forest-born or not, he was growing into a formidable warrior, she reflected, as exceptional in his way as his sister, Mothwing.
“Say hi to Mothwing for me,” she mewed to him, and with a sudden thought darted back to the clumps of celandine. Grabbing up a few of the stems she had bitten off, she hurried back and dropped them at Hawkfrost’s paws. “She might like to have those,” she told him. “Cinderpelt uses it to help cats with weak eyes. I think it grows much better on our side of the border.”
“Thank you,” Hawkfrost replied with a nod of gratitude.
“We’d better be on our way,” meowed Mistyfoot. “Leafpaw, tell your father about Stormfur and Feathertail, and ask him to let us know if he hears anything.”
“Yes, Mistyfoot, I will.”
Guilt swept over Leafpaw yet again as she watched the RiverClan patrol pad away upriver. She felt again the burden of being the only cat to know about both prophecies—one that had sent Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw on a journey who knew where, and one that left Firestar convinced they would be involved in the destruction of his Clan—and yet her knowledge was not enough. StarClan had not chosen to tell her about the destiny of the forest, and Leafpaw did not feel that even the full moon, shining down on the next Gathering, would shed much light on her dark questions. By the time Leafpaw and Sorreltail returned to camp, loaded with celandine, it was almost sunhigh.
“We’d better report to Firestar,” Sorreltail meowed when they had taken the herbs to Cinderpelt. “He’ll want to know about those missing RiverClan cats.”
Leafpaw nodded and led the way to her father’s den beneath the Highrock. The clearing was full of cats enjoying the last heat of early leaf-fall. Spiderpaw and Whitepaw were sprawled in the shade of the ferns that sheltered their den, while Cloudtail and Brightheart shared tongues in a patch of sunlight. Ferncloud was sitting outside the nursery with Dustpelt beside her, watching their kits as they played together.
A wave of sadness swept over Leafpaw. It was almost as if Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw had never been part of ThunderClan, as if they had sunk out of sight as a drowning cat might sink in the river, the waters closing over its head.
The feeling ebbed a little when they reached Firestar’s den and called out to him. Leafpaw heard his voice telling them to enter, and she brushed past the curtain of lichen to see him curled up in his nest; Greystripe was sitting next to him, and the anxiety in the eyes of both cats was enough to reassure Leafpaw that her sister and Brambleclaw had not been forgotten.
“We’ve brought news,” Sorreltail meowed immediately, and poured out what Mistyfoot had told them about Feathertail and Stormfur going missing.
Firestar’s and Greystripe’s eyes narrowed, and the deputy sprang to his paws as if he wanted to dash out and look for his missing children right away.
“If a fox has taken them I’ll track it down and flay its skin!” he snarled.
Firestar remained in his nest, but he unsheathed his claws as if he were sinking them into the pelt of whatever had stolen his daughter. “Surely the dogs can’t have come back?” he muttered. “We couldn’t have to deal with them more than once in a lifetime?”
“No, there’s no sign of that,” Leafpaw reassured him. “Feathertail and Stormfur must have gone with Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw, and that . . . that suggests they had a reason for leaving.” She tried desperately to think how much information she could give to the anxious fathers without revealing that she knew more than she was supposed to. So far she had kept her Moonstone vision of the travelling cats even from her mentor, Cinderpelt, but now she knew she would have to reveal it. She was not breaking her promise, she told herself; she would not betray anything of what Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw had told her when they met in the forest.
“Firestar,” she went on hesitantly, “you know how close I am to Squirrelpaw? Well, sometimes I can tell what she’s doing, even when she’s a long way away.”
Firestar’s eyes opened wide in amazement. “That’s impossible!” He gasped. “I always knew you were close, but this . . .”
“It’s true, I promise. When I went to the Moonstone, StarClan gave me a vision of her,” Leafpaw went on. “She was safe, and there were other cats with her.” She met her father’s intense gaze, and saw how much he wanted to believe her. “Squirrelpaw is alive,” she finished, “and the others must be with her. Four cats together will be safer than two.”
Firestar blinked, bewildered. “May StarClan grant you’re right.”
Greystripe’s amber eyes remained full of fear and uncertainty. “Even if that’s true, why did they leave without telling us where they were going, or why?” he meowed. “If Stormfur and Feathertail had a problem, why didn’t they come to me first?”
“We think the other Clans might have lost cats too,” Sorreltail meowed. “We should ask them.”
Firestar and Greystripe exchanged a glance. “Perhaps,” mewed Firestar; Leafpaw could tell how hard he was struggling to sound decisive, to act like a Clan leader instead of a desperately worried father. “The next Gathering is only a few days away.”
“StarClan keep them all safe!” Greystripe added fervently.
Leafpaw suspected that he had little faith in his prayer; he knew well enough the dangers that stalked outside the forest. As she left her father’s den, she felt the burden of her knowledge weighing even more heavily on her. She was the only cat in the forest who had heard that there were two prophecies, and knew what each of them said.
But I’m only an apprentice, she told herself anxiously. I know them by accident, not because our warrior ancestors chose to tell me themselves. What do StarClan expect me to do?
Leafpaw found it hard to sleep that night, fidgeting in her bed of ferns while Silverpelt glittered coldly above her. She longed to know what was happening to the journeying cats, but she could think of no way to find out.
When she finally drifted into unconsciousness, she found herself in some dim place, racing panic-stricken among the trunks of shadowy trees.
“Squirrelpaw! Squirrelpaw!” She gasped.
She was answered only by the hoot of an owl and the bark of a fox. Death panted hard on her paws, drawing closer with every footfall, and for all her twisting and turning, Leafpaw knew that there was no escape.
CHAPTER 19
Brambleclaw raced panic-stricken among the trees, bolting back and forth in a frantic effort to escape. Behind him he could hear the throaty bark of the dog that had leap
ed out from a thicket as he and his companions reached the wood. Glancing back, he saw the lean black shape crash through a clump of bracken, its tongue lolling. He could almost feel its sharp white teeth meeting in his pelt.
“StarClan help us!” Feathertail gasped as she dashed beside him.
They had fallen behind the other cats, though Brambleclaw heard a yowl of terror coming from somewhere just ahead.
“Dodge!” he called. “Try to lose it!”
The dog barked again, and from further off Brambleclaw heard a Twoleg shouting. He lost sight of his pursuer, and he slowed down as a wave of relief swept over him; the creature must have gone back to its Twoleg.
Then he heard the dog’s snuffling breath, and it shot out from behind a fallen tree trunk. For a heartbeat Brambleclaw stared into eyes like flames. Whirling around, he fled through the trees as the barking started up again.
Confused by fear, he remembered how Firestar and the other cats of ThunderClan had led the dog pack through the forest until they fell into the gorge and drowned. But how could he and his friends lead this dog away, here in unknown territory?
“Climb trees!” he yowled, hoping his friends could hear him above the fierce barking that sounded louder than ever.
He glanced upwards as he ran, but every tree seemed to have a smooth trunk with no low-growing branches. He could not stop and search; the beast would be on him at once. Had it already caught one of the others? Was he about to find one of his companions terribly injured like Brightheart, or worse, dead?
His breath was rasping in his throat and his paws burned with every step; he knew he could not keep up this pace for much longer. Then a voice hissed at him from somewhere above his head. “Up here—quick!”
Brambleclaw skidded to a halt beside a tree that was covered with ivy. A pair of eyes gleamed down at him. In the same heartbeat the dog crashed through a tangle of briars behind him. With a terrified yowl, Brambleclaw launched himself upward, clawing frantically at the ivy stems. They gave way under his weight, and for a heart-stopping moment he swung helplessly; the dog leaped up and he heard the snap of its teeth and felt hot breath on his fur.
Then he managed to sink his claws into a stronger ivy stem and hauled himself upwards again. Squirrelpaw appeared below, shot past the nose of the dog, and clawed her way up the tree, overtaking Brambleclaw to crouch shivering on a branch. Brambleclaw scrambled up beside her.
He spotted Stormfur and Tawnypelt clinging to another branch just above his head, and Crowpaw scrabbled his way up to join them from the other side of the trunk.
“Feathertail!” gasped Brambleclaw. “Where’s Feathertail?”
The dog was on its hind legs at the bottom of the tree, less than a fox-length below him. Its claws tore at the ivy while it snarled furiously, drool spilling out of its jaws. The sound of the Twoleg shouting came again, but a long way off.
Then Brambleclaw noticed Feathertail crouching in the briars just behind the dog, staring out in terror. If she tried to run for the safety of the tree, the dog would cut her off. How long, Brambleclaw wondered, before it scented her?
Suddenly he heard Crowpaw spit furiously. “Fox dung! I’ve had enough of this.” The WindClan apprentice hurled himself out of the tree, narrowly missing the dog, and hit the ground just beyond it. The dog spun around and gave chase, its paws scrabbling on the dry leaves. While it was distracted, Feathertail bolted out of the briars and across the clearing to make a desperate leap for a thin branch that swung alarmingly under her weight.
“Crowpaw!” Brambleclaw yowled.
The grey-black tom had vanished into the bushes. Brambleclaw could hear the dog crashing about, barking wildly, and the shouts of the Twoleg growing closer. Then Crowpaw appeared again, his belly close to the ground as he ran all-out for the tree. The dog was panting just behind him. Brambleclaw squeezed his eyes tight shut and opened them again in time to see Crowpaw take a flying jump and dig his claws into the ivy.
At the same moment the Twoleg lumbered into the clearing and made a dive for the dog’s collar. He was red-faced and yelling furiously. The dog dodged to one side, but the Twoleg managed to grab it and clip a lead onto its collar. The dog’s barks changed to whining as it was dragged away, clawing the grass and leaf mold as it struggled to return to its prey.
“Thank you, Crowpaw!” Feathertail gasped, still clinging to the swaying branch. “You saved my life!”
“Yes, you did,” meowed Brambleclaw. “Well done.”
Crowpaw scrambled higher until he reached the branch beside Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw. “Big brute,” he muttered, looking embarrassed. “Tripped over its own paws.”
Feathertail’s blue eyes were fixed on him, huge as moons with shock. “It would have caught me for sure if you hadn’t come to help me,” she whispered.
As Brambleclaw’s fear ebbed, he remembered for the first time the voice that had called him up into the tree. It wasn’t one of the Clan cats. Looking up again, he saw a pair of eyes gleaming from the leaves a little way above his head. Then the leaves rustled and an unfamiliar cat emerged.
It was a tabby tom, old and plump with rumpled fur that looked as if he never bothered to groom himself. His movements were slow and careful as he clambered down the tree to join the six journeying cats.
“Well,” he rasped. “You’re a fine bunch, an’ no mistake. Don’t you know that that dog runs loose every day, ’round about sunrise?”
“How would we know that?” Tawnypelt spat. “We’ve never been here before.”
The tom blinked at her. “No need to get so snippy. You’ll know another time, won’t you? Get out o’ the way then.”
“There won’t be another time,” Stormfur meowed. “We’re just passing through.”
“Thank you for helping us,” Brambleclaw added. “I was beginning to think we’d never escape.”
The tabby ignored his thanks. “Just passin’ through, eh?” he mewed. “I’ll bet you’ve a story to tell. Why not stay awhile an’ share it wi’ me?” He stood up and braced himself, ready to jump down into the clearing.
“Down there?” Squirrelpaw sounded nervous. “What if that dog comes back?”
“It won’t. It’s gone home now. Come on.”
The old cat scrambled down the ivy-covered trunk and ungracefully dropped the last fox-length to the ground. Looking up, he opened his jaws wide in a yawn. “Comin’?”
Brambleclaw leaped down after him; he wasn’t going to let this elder, or kittypet, or whatever he was, show more bravery than warriors. His companions joined him, clustering around to gaze uncertainly at the stranger.
“Who are you?” Stormfur asked. “Are you a kittypet?”
The old tom looked blank. “Kittypet?”
“Living with Twolegs,” Squirrelpaw mewed impatiently.
“Twolegs?”
“Oh, let’s go,” Crowpaw’s ears twitched in contempt. “There are bees in his brain. We won’t get any sense out of him.”
“Who’re you callin’ senseless, young fellow?” The tabby tom’s voice was a deep rumble, and his claws extended to sink into the leaves under his paws.
“Sorry,” Brambleclaw meowed hastily, with a glare at Crowpaw; the apprentice might have shown amazing courage, but that didn’t make him any less annoying. Turning to the old cat, he began to explain. “Twolegs, like the one who came to fetch the dog.”
“Oh, you’re talkin’ about Upwalkers. Why didn’t you say so? No, I don’t live with Upwalkers. Used to once, mind you. Those were the days!” He settled down at the foot of the tree, gazing into the distance as if he were looking back at the young cat he had once been. “A fire to sleep by, an’ all the food I could eat.”
Brambleclaw wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Firestar always said that kittypet food was nowhere near as tasty as fresh-kill you caught yourself. As for sleeping beside a fire . . . Brambleclaw remembered the fire that had swept through the ThunderClan camp, and the very thought of it made his fur prickle.
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“Talking of food,” Crowpaw meowed loudly, “we need to get on and hunt. There should be prey somewhere among these trees. Here, you . . .” He stretched out a paw and prodded the old cat, who had drifted into a doze. “What’s the prey like around here?”
The tabby opened one amber eye. “Young cats,” he muttered. “Always dashin’ off. There’s no need to catch your own squeakers in these parts. Not if you know where to go.”
“Well, we don’t.” Squirrelpaw flicked her ears back irritably.
“Please, won’t you tell us?” Feathertail asked the old cat. “We’re strangers here, so we don’t know the good places. We’ve been travelling a long way, and we’re all very hungry.”
Her gentle tone, and the pleading look she gave him from liquid blue eyes, seemed to win over the old cat. “I might show you,” he replied, scratching himself vigorously behind the ear with one hind paw.
“That would be very kind of you,” Stormfur added, coming to stand beside his sister.
The old cat’s gaze travelled over them, coming to rest at last on Brambleclaw. “Six of you,” he mewed. “That’s a powerful lot to feed. Who are you, anyway? Why don’t you have Upwalkers of your own?”
“We’re warriors!” Brambleclaw explained. He introduced himself and his companions. “I suppose you must be a loner,” he finished, “if you don’t live with Twolegs—I mean Upwalkers.” Trying to sound as polite as Feathertail, he added, “Won’t you tell us your name?”
“Name? Don’t rightly reckon I’ve got one. Upwalkers feed me, though I don’t stay with them none. They call me different names—a cat can’t be expected to remember them all.”
“You must have had a name to begin with,” Squirrelpaw insisted, rolling her eyes at Brambleclaw.
“Yes, what was your name when you lived with the . . . the Upwalker who had the fire?” Feathertail asked.
The old cat gave the other ear a good scratch. “Well, now . . . that was a long time ago.” He let out a gusty sigh. “A long time and a good time. I caught more squeakers in that Upwalker den than you youngsters have seen in your whole lives.”