“Yes.” Settling into the grass so they could talk more comfortably, Brambleclaw told them quickly about the sun-drown place and the cave with teeth, feeling his fur bristle with fear again. “I spoke to Ravenpaw this morning—you know, the loner who lives near Highstones? He says the sun-drown place is real. And he told me that StarClan’s prophecies are always vague. We need the faith and courage of warriors to understand them, and to trust that what StarClan wants us to do is right.”
“Which is what?” Stormfur queried.
“I . . . I think we should go to the sun-drown place,” Brambleclaw replied, his belly churning with tension. “That’s where StarClan will tell us what we need to know.”
Feathertail had listened in silence, her blue gaze fixed on his face. When he stopped speaking, she nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.”
“What?” Stormfur sprang to his paws. “Are you mad? You don’t even know where this place is.”
Feathertail flicked him with her tail. “No, but StarClan will guide us.”
Brambleclaw waited tensely. If Stormfur refused to agree, he might tell Leopardstar what was going on, and the Clan could stop Feathertail from leaving with him.
The grey warrior paced along the bank and back again, his tail fluffed up in agitation. “Faith and courage—we’d certainly need those if we went to this place,” he muttered. “I’m still not convinced that you’re right, mind you,” he added wryly to Brambleclaw. “But if you’re not, maybe StarClan will send another sign to turn us back.”
Feathertail’s blue eyes glowed. “Does that mean you’ll come with us?”
“Try to stop me,” her brother meowed grimly. He swung around to face Brambleclaw. “I know I’ve not had any dreams, but an extra warrior could be useful.”
“You’re right.” Brambleclaw was so relieved to have won their agreement that he did not try to argue. “Thanks, both of you.”
“So when do we leave?” Stormfur mewed.
“I thought the day before half-moon,” Brambleclaw suggested. “That should give us enough time to talk to the others.”
Rising to his paws, he padded down to the water’s edge. The sun was going down, red behind bars of dark cloud. A breeze ruffled his drying fur and he shivered again, less from cold than from the thought of the path they had to travel.
“I know Tawnypelt will come if I ask her,” he meowed, “but what about Crowpaw? He’d rather eat fox dung than go on a journey with us. But if all the cats StarClan have chosen don’t go together, we might fail the prophecy.”
“Crowpaw will understand,” Feathertail tried to reassure him, though Brambleclaw wished he had her confidence.
“We’ll help you persuade him,” Stormfur offered. “He comes to the river to drink every day about sunset. It’s too late now, so why don’t we meet there tomorrow and talk to him together?”
“OK.” Brambleclaw blinked his gratitude. Somehow, the prophecy seemed to weigh less heavily when he was sharing it with friends. “Provided he comes, after this rain. WindClan should have water of their own now, remember.”
“If he doesn’t come,” mewed Feathertail, sounding determined, “we’ll just have to think of something else.”
More rain fell during the night. WindClan’s moorland streams would be flowing again without a doubt, making Brambleclaw more anxious than ever that the WindClan apprentice would not come into RiverClan territory to drink. He was restless all day; Cloudtail, on hunting patrol with him and Dustpelt, kept asking if he had ants in his fur.
When the fresh-kill pile had been restocked, Brambleclaw managed to slip out of camp again on his own. He especially wanted to avoid Squirrelpaw, who was bound to ask him where he was going.
The sun was sinking by the time he reached the border with RiverClan, in sight of the Twoleg bridge. It wasn’t long before he saw the two RiverClan warriors climbing the riverbank and scooting across the bridge with their heads low. Stormfur beckoned with his tail, and Brambleclaw raced across the border to meet him and Feathertail at the near end of the bridge.
“Better hide,” Stormfur meowed. “We don’t know how many WindClan cats will come, and you’re not supposed to be here.”
Brambleclaw nodded. The three cats crept into the shelter of a thornbush near the place where the WindClan cats came to drink. Just below their hiding place the river raced noisily past, its brown water flecked with foam as it poured out of the gorge.
They did not have long to wait before Brambleclaw caught a strong WindClan scent and a group of cats appeared from the direction of Fourtrees. The Clan leader, Tallstar, came first, followed by Onewhisker and a ginger warrior Brambleclaw didn’t recognise. Other cats came after them and Brambleclaw’s heart began to race uncomfortably when he spotted Crowpaw among them with his mentor, Mudclaw.
The WindClan cats padded down the slope to the riverbank and crouched at the water’s edge to drink. Frustrated, Brambleclaw saw that Crowpaw stayed in the middle of the group, too far away to call to him without other cats hearing.
“I’ll have to go and fetch him,” Feathertail murmured. She slipped out from underneath the bush and headed for the river.
Brambleclaw watched her greet the WindClan cats, stopping to speak briefly with Morningflower, one of the WindClan elders. Their exchange was polite, though not friendly; Brambleclaw wondered how long the Clans’ uneasy alliance over the water would last if WindClan went on coming to drink now that the drought was over.
Soon Feathertail went to crouch beside Crowpaw at the water’s edge. Brambleclaw dug his claws into the ground as he watched her straighten up again, shake water from her whiskers, and set off back to the thornbush. Crowpaw was not following her; had the WindClan apprentice decided he wanted no more to do with the mission, or had Feathertail been unable to tell him about the meeting?
“What’s the matter?” he hissed as Feathertail crawled back into the shelter of the branches. “Did you talk to him?”
“It’s OK.” Feathertail pushed her muzzle into his side. “He’s coming. He just doesn’t want WindClan to see.”
While she was speaking, Crowpaw backed away from the river and began to pad up the bank towards the bush. His Clan mates were still drinking. A couple of fox-lengths away he glanced around casually and then dived for the bush before any cat could notice him go.
As the leaves rustled into place around him he glared at Brambleclaw with hostility in his green eyes. “I thought I could smell ThunderClan,” he growled. “What do you want now?”
Brambleclaw exchanged an apprehensive glance with Feathertail. This wasn’t a good start. “I’ve had another dream,” he began, swallowing nervously.
“What sort of dream?” Crowpaw’s voice was cold. “I haven’t had one. Why would StarClan send you a dream and not me?”
Stormfur raised his hackles and Brambleclaw bit back a sharp response. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
A grunt was Crowpaw’s only reply, but he listened in silence as Brambleclaw described what he had seen. “Ravenpaw, the loner who lives on the far side of your territory, visited the camp yesterday,” he finished. “He told me that the sun-drown place is real. I . . . I think StarClan are telling us to go there. And we should go soon, all of us, in case the rest of the prophecy comes true and the Clans are in too much trouble to be saved.”
Crowpaw’s eyes stretched wide. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he meowed. “You’re asking us to leave our Clans and go trekking off into the unknown—StarClan knows how far!—just because you’ve had a dream that none of us have had? Who died and made you leader?”
Brambleclaw found it hard to meet his eyes; Crowpaw was only echoing his own doubts. “I’m not trying to be leader,” he stammered. “I’m just telling you what I think StarClan want.”
“I’m willing to go,” Feathertail added. “Even though I haven’t had another dream.”
“Then you’re more mouse-brained than he is,” Crowpaw retorted. “Well, I won’t go. I’ll be made a
warrior soon. I’ve worked hard for it, and I’m not leaving the Clan so close to the end of my training.”
“But Crowpaw—” Brambleclaw started to protest.
“No!” The apprentice showed his teeth in a snarl. “I’m not coming. What would my Clan think?”
“Maybe they’ll honour you,” Stormfur meowed. The grey warrior’s eyes were serious. “Think, Crowpaw! If trouble is really coming, worse than anything we’ve seen before, what will the Clans think of the cats who help them? They’ll understand how much faith we had to place in StarClan, that they were leading us on a genuine mission, and they’ll know how much courage it took to do this.”
“But you weren’t chosen!” Crowpaw pointed out. “It doesn’t matter to you one way or the other.”
“Maybe not, but I’m coming anyway,” Stormfur told him.
“And the reason StarClan aren’t giving us clear instructions is because they want us to show faith and courage,” Brambleclaw added. “Those are the qualities that a true warrior needs.”
“Please, Crowpaw!” Feathertail’s eyes shone. “The mission might fail without you. Remember that you were chosen—the only apprentice singled out by StarClan. They must believe that you can do this.”
Crowpaw hesitated, looking at her. The red light of sunset had faded, leaving them in twilight, and Brambleclaw could hear and scent the WindClan cats as they passed the bush on their way back to their own territory. Crowpaw would have to leave with them before they noticed he was missing; there was no more time to plead or reason with him.
“All right,” Crowpaw meowed at last. “I’ll come.” His eyes narrowed as he gazed at Brambleclaw. “Just don’t start telling me what to do. Dreams or no dreams, I’m not going to take orders from you!”
Brambleclaw picked his way along the stone-lined tunnel under the Thunderpath, skirting the puddles that had formed there since the rain. Darkness lay all around, along with the reek of ShadowClan.
He had come here straight from the encounter with Crowpaw. The RiverClan warriors had offered to come with him, but Brambleclaw thought it was too risky. Alone, he would be less of a threat if ShadowClan warriors found him on their territory. Emerging on the other side of the Thunderpath, he tasted the air for fresh scents of ShadowClan warriors, but detected nothing except the damp odours of the marshy ground. His belly skimming the earth, he darted across an open space and into the shelter of some bushes.
There were few tall trees in ShadowClan territory. Most of the ground was choked with brambles and nettles, separated by shallow pools of water. Brambleclaw’s paws sank into the peaty earth at every step, and he shivered as his belly fur grew soaked.
“How do ShadowClan stand it?” he muttered. “It’s so wet, I’m surprised they haven’t all got webbed paws!”
He had a pretty good idea of where he might find Tawnypelt. She had once told him about a huge chestnut tree beside the stream that led down into ThunderClan territory. Her eyes had glowed as she described this favourite spot for sunning herself and catching squirrels, making Brambleclaw wonder if she was secretly missing the trees of ThunderClan. With any luck, she might be there now.
Brambleclaw located the stream and began to follow it, sometimes gritting his teeth and splashing through the shallows in the hope of hiding his scent from ShadowClan warriors. He saw a patrol crossing the stream a short way ahead, and crouched down behind a clump of sedge until they had vanished into the undergrowth and their scent faded away.
Not long after that he came to the chestnut tree. Its roots twisted around him, stretching down into the stream. Brambleclaw thought he could detect his sister’s scent, but under the thick canopy of leaves it was too dark to see her.
“Tawnypelt!” he called softly. “Are you there?”
The answer came as a weight that crashed down on him, bowling him over. He let out a startled yowl that broke off as his muzzle was pressed into the damp earth. A paw landed on his neck, pinning him with barely sheathed claws, and a voice growled close to his ear, “What are you doing here, you stupid furball?”
Brambleclaw let out a gasp of relief. The claws retracted and the weight lifted off him, letting him scramble to his paws. Tawnypelt was perched on a tree root, looking down at him.
“If you’re found here, you’ll be crowfood,” she hissed. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Something’s happened. I’ve had another dream.” Brambleclaw quickly told her about it.
Tawnypelt settled herself on the root to listen. “So Ravenpaw reckons it’s a real place,” she mused when he had finished. “And you think StarClan wants us to go there. They don’t ask much, do they?”
Brambleclaw felt his ears droop. “You mean you won’t come?”
His sister’s tail twitched irritably. “Did I say that? Of course I’m coming. But no cat says I have to like it. And what about Stormfur? Why does he have to get involved? StarClan haven’t chosen him.”
Brambleclaw sighed. “I know. But try stopping him. Besides, he’s a good warrior, and we might be glad of his support. We don’t know what we’re going to meet out there. And another thing,” he added. “He and Feathertail do everything together. I think it comes of having their father in another Clan.”
“I can understand that.” Tawnypelt’s tone was dry, and her brother realised how much sympathy she might have for the two RiverClan warriors. Her father was dead and both her brother and her mother, Goldenflower, remained in Thun derClan. Tawnypelt might well feel like a stranger in the Clan she had chosen. But Brambleclaw recognised the pride that would not let her voice her loneliness, and her determination to be a loyal ShadowClan warrior. Regret surged through him, not for the first time, as he thought what a loss she was to ThunderClan.
“You will serve your Clan well by coming on this journey,” he reminded her.
“That’s true.” A trace of eagerness crept into Tawnypelt’s voice, and grew stronger as she went on. “StarClan must have chosen us because they think we’re the right cats. We must have something to offer that no other cats can give.” She sprang down from the root and landed with a soft thud at Brambleclaw’s side. “ShadowClan has many strong warriors to keep up the patrols. They can do without me for a while. When do we leave?”
Brambleclaw let out an affectionate purr. “Not right now! I told the others the night before the half-moon. We’ll meet at Fourtrees.”
Tawnypelt’s tail lashed with enthusiasm. “I’ll be ready. And now,” she added, “I’d better show you to the border. Even one of StarClan’s chosen can get his fur ripped off for trespassing.”
CHAPTER 8
“Snakerocks is the best place in the forest to find chervil,” Cinderpelt explained over her shoulder as she limped along the fern-shaded path. “But we can’t go there just now, thanks to that wretched badger.”
“It’s still there, then?” Leafpaw asked. She and the medicine cat were on an herb-gathering expedition. The sun shone brilliantly from a sky that was clear again, but the rain had revived the forest plants, and Leafpaw was enjoying the delicious coolness on her paws as she followed her mentor along the narrow track.
“So the dawn patrol said,” Cinderpelt replied. “Keep your eyes open for—Ah!”
She swerved into the ferns and up a sandy slope, where several clumps of a strongly scented herb were growing; the flowers were gone but Leafpaw recognised the large, spreading leaves, and as she drew closer she smelled the sweetish scent of chervil.
“Tell me what we use it for,” Cinderpelt prompted, beginning to gnaw one of the stems at its base.
Leafpaw narrowed her eyes and tried to remember. “The juice of the leaves for infected wounds,” she mewed. “And if you chew the root it’s good for bellyache.”
“Well done,” Cinderpelt purred. “Now you can dig up a few roots—not too many, though, or there’ll be no more in seasons to come.”
She went on biting the stems while Leafpaw obediently began to scrape at the ground to uncover the roots. The chervil
scent was all around them, making her feel light-headed, but after a few moments she began to scent something else—something that reminded her of the acrid tang of the Thunderpath, though it was not quite the same.
She glanced up and spotted a thin thread of smoke rising from a clump of dead bracken a little way down the slope. “Cinderpelt, look,” she mewed uneasily, pointing with her tail.
The medicine cat looked around and froze, her neck fur bristling and her blue eyes blazing. “Great StarClan, no!” She gasped. Awkwardly, because of her injured leg, she began scrambling down towards the burning bracken.
Leafpaw leaped after her and passed the medicine cat in a couple of bounds. As she drew closer to the clump of bracken, a searing light flashed, dazzling her eyes. Blinking, she made out something shiny and clear sticking out of the ground, some spiky scrap of Twoleg rubbish. The sun was falling straight onto it and the bracken behind was slowly blackening and sending the wisp of smoke into the sky.
“Fire!” Cinderpelt yowled, coming up behind her. “Quick!”
Suddenly the bracken burst into flames. Leafpaw sprang back from the wave of heat. Turning to flee, she saw that Cinderpelt stood still, gazing into the scarlet and orange blaze that leaped hungrily at the brittle stalks.
Was she frozen in panic? Leafpaw wondered. Sandstorm had told her about the terrible fire that once swept through the ThunderClan camp. Cinderpelt had survived, but several cats had not, and fire must be especially frightening to the medicine cat when her injured leg made it hard for her to run away.
Then Leafpaw saw that Cinderpelt’s eyes were not wide with fear, but something else. Her gaze was fixed and remote, and Leafpaw realised with a shiver from her ears to her tail tip that her mentor was receiving a message from StarClan.
As quickly as it had blazed up, the fire began to die, and Leafpaw let out a sigh of relief. The flames sank into bright embers and began to wink out, the fronds of bracken disintegrating into flecks of ash. Cinderpelt took a step backward. She was even more unsteady than usual; Leafpaw darted forward to press up against her side, supporting her and helping her to sit down.