His ears pricked as he caught the faint sound of fluttering wings, and he peered down into the shadows. A bird had landed just below him and was pecking at the ground. Bunching his muscles, Stormfur sprang. His claws met feathers, and the bird’s frantic alarm call was cut off as he killed it with one blow of his paw.
Stormfur stood up, his prey in his jaws, and saw the dim shape of one of the mud-covered cave-guards approaching up the valley. The fresh-kill in his mouth masked the scent, and he did not recognise Crag until the cat spoke.
“Good catch! You’ll make a great prey-hunter.”
Stormfur nodded his thanks, but Crag’s words made him slightly anxious; did he really mean “you will make a good prey-hunter,” or had he meant to say “you would”? The cave-guard sometimes seemed to assume that Stormfur intended to stay with the Tribe for good. But there was no opportunity to ask him what he meant; Brook and the rest of the prey-hunters had just appeared, and the whole patrol set off back to the cave, collecting the prey they had caught earlier on their way.
When they reached the pool, Stormfur set down his load for a brief rest before climbing the rocks and negotiating the ledge behind the waterfall. The sun had set and the peak was outlined against a sky the colour of blood. Stormfur shivered, trying not to picture blood being shed back home in the forest. However happy he felt to be hunting with the Tribe, they had to move on as soon as they could.
Brook padded up beside him, her eyes shining in the evening light. “A good day’s hunting,” she purred. “You have learned our ways well, Stormfur.”
A warm glow spread through him from ears to tail-tip. Even more than before, he knew how much he would miss her when he had to leave. In these last few days she had become a friend; even her strange accent had begun to sound familiar. He guessed she felt the same; at least, she always asked him to go hunting with her, while the rest of the forest cats, if they hunted at all, went with other groups. Stormfur wondered what Brook really thought of him. Would she miss him when he had to go?
He opened his jaws and picked up a strong rank scent. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before: a bit like a cat’s, but harsher and tinged with carrion. He felt his neck fur rise with a premonition of danger.
“What’s that?”
Brook’s eyes stretched wide with fear, but she did not reply. Already the rest of the hunting patrol were gathering up their prey, hurrying for the safety of the cave. Crag bounded over and almost pushed Stormfur up the rocks. Glancing up, Stormfur thought he spotted a shadowy movement near the top of the waterfall, but he wasn’t sure. Then he had to concentrate on keeping his footing on the slick, wet stones of the ledge, struggling to see around the half-grown falcon in his jaws. No cat tried to explain the reason for the sudden panic, and Stormfur had learned by now that there would be no point in asking.
In the cave, he carried his prey over to the fresh-kill pile and went to find his friends. Spotting them near their sleeping hollows, he headed towards them, dodging around a couple of to-bes who were training with one of the cave-guards. They were using unfamiliar fighting moves; Stormfur’s pelt itched to join in and learn, and teach the Tribe cats a few RiverClan tricks too. Maybe later, he promised himself.
The other Clan cats were all gathered around Tawnypelt, who was on her paws, twisting her head to examine her shoulder. Feathertail’s tongue rasped busily over her fur.
“It’s much better,” she meowed. “There’s no swelling at all, and the wound’s healing cleanly. How does it feel, Tawnypelt?”
The ShadowClan warrior flexed the injured shoulder, then dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept a few tail-lengths along the cave floor. “Stoneteller certainly knows his stuff,” she reported. “I don’t know the herbs he used, but they’re just as good as burdock root. The shoulder’s a bit stiff, that’s all,” she added, springing up again. “It’ll be fine if I keep exercising it. I just wish I could get my claws on that rat!”
“Then it’s time we were leaving,” Brambleclaw mewed. “I’ll have a word with Stoneteller, and we’ll set off first thing tomorrow.”
“Right!” Crowpaw’s eyes flashed. “And they’d better not try to keep us here.”
“They won’t.” Feathertail pressed her muzzle against his side. “I’m sure you’re worrying about nothing. The Tribe cats have been nothing but kind to us ever since we got here.”
“They’ll probably be glad to see the back of us,” Squirrelpaw agreed cheerfully. “They’re bound to be short of prey when leaf-bare comes.”
“It’s nearly here,” mewed Feathertail. “The rocks were white with frost this morning.”
“Right.” Squirrelpaw waved her tail. “So they won’t want us sitting here stuffing ourselves.”
Stormfur could see from the look Brambleclaw gave his Clanmate that he was still worried, but he said nothing. Instead, it was Crowpaw who spoke, noticing for the first time that Stormfur had padded up to join them.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, his lip curling unpleasantly. “Decided to join us, have you? Getting bored with your new friends in the Tribe?”
“Don’t,” Feathertail murmured, flicking him with her tail.
Stung, Stormfur stalked up to the young WindClan apprentice. “If he’s got something to say, let him say it.”
“Only that you spend all your time with them. Maybe you’d like to stay with them for good. After all, things are going to be pretty tough when we get back to the forest.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Stormfur retorted. Turning his back on Crowpaw, he saw that all the others were looking at him gravely, as if they half agreed with what the WindClan cat had said. “Come on,” Stormfur went on, alarmed. “What have I done? Gone out hunting a couple of times, that’s all. You said yourself, Brambleclaw, that we should catch our own prey while we’re here. What makes you think that I care any less than you about what happens to the forest?”
“No cat thinks that,” Feathertail mewed soothingly.
“He does.” Stormfur twitched his ears at Crowpaw. “This isn’t about the dreams, is it? Just because I wasn’t chosen by StarClan . . . You haven’t had more dreams, have you, and not told me?”
He unsheathed his claws, hating that they scraped against stone rather than soft riverside earth or a tangle of reeds. Crowpaw he could understand; the apprentice had always been difficult, and he would fight with StarClan themselves. But that the others might think him less than loyal—even his own sister . . . It was almost as bad as the time when Tigerstar had merged two Clans together, and he and Feathertail had nearly been killed for being half-Clan. Feathertail at least should remember that and understand. Stormfur stifled a flash of guilt as he remembered how comfortable he felt among the Tribe, but he was determined to remain loyal to RiverClan.
“No, we haven’t had any more dreams,” Brambleclaw replied. “Settle down, Stormfur, and Crowpaw, stop annoying him. We have problems enough without that.”
“It’s that waterfall,” Tawnypelt meowed unexpectedly. “The noise of it, day and night, is driving me mad. StarClan could be sending us every sign under the sun, but we’d never hear them. I’ll be glad when we’re out in the open again, and well away from this place.”
There was a soft snarl in Crowpaw’s voice. “We need to go back to the forest, and defend it like warriors should. Stormfur can come or not.”
“Shut up, mouse-brain,” Squirrelpaw snapped. “Stormfur’s just as loyal as you.”
Stormfur blinked gratefully at her. “Of course I’m coming with you,” he meowed.
“Then let’s eat, and get a good night’s sleep,” Brambleclaw growled. “It might be our last chance for a while.”
Stormfur looked up and flinched, surprised to see that while they had been talking several of the Tribe cats had gathered and were watching them with serious faces.
Crag stepped forwards. “Why do you talk about leaving?” he meowed. “You’ll never make it through the mountains in the season of frozen-water. Stay with us
until the sun returns.”
“We can’t do that!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed. “There’s trouble back home—we told you that when we arrived.”
“We’re grateful for the offer,” Brambleclaw meowed more diplomatically, brushing his tail across Squirrelpaw’s mouth to silence her. “But we have to go.”
The Tribe cats glanced at one another, their neck fur starting to bristle. Suddenly they looked threatening. Several of the powerful cave-guards moved to stand between them and the entrance, and two or three of the kit-mothers began anxiously herding their kits towards the nursery tunnel. The meaning was clear; Stormfur knew that if they tried to leave now they would have a fight on their paws.
Spotting Brook near the back of the group, he thrust past a cave-guard to stand in front of her. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are you treating us like prisoners?”
Brook would not meet his eyes. “Please . . .” she murmured. “Are you so unhappy here that staying is such a terrible thing?”
“‘Unhappy’ isn’t the point. We’re on a mission; we don’t have any choice.” Stormfur whirled around to question Crag, but the cave-guard avoided his gaze, and he knew that their friendship was being brushed aside out of loyalty to the Tribe, for reasons he could not begin to guess. He had believed that the Tribe cats liked him for himself, and pain at their betrayal tore him like an eagle’s talons.
“Fox dung to this!” Crowpaw muttered, trying to force his way past the cave-guards.
Crag raised his paw, and another cave-guard thrust Crowpaw back with a furious hiss. The WindClan apprentice’s bristling fur and lashing tail showed that he was ready to attack both of them at once.
“Wait,” Feathertail murmured, pushing between Crowpaw and the guards. “Let’s find out what all this means.”
“It means trouble,” Crowpaw snarled. “No cat is going to stop me from leaving.”
He shouldered his way past Feathertail and leaped on Crag, bowling the huge cave-guard over. Crag’s hind paws battered his belly, but before the fight could go any further, Brambleclaw fastened his teeth into Crowpaw’s scruff and dragged him off.
The apprentice spun around to face him, eyes blazing. “Get off me!” he snarled.
“Then stop being so mouse-brained!” Brambleclaw hissed, just as furious. “These guards could turn you into crowfood. We have to find out what they want.”
Stormfur hated to admit defeat, but if they fought their way out tonight—even supposing they could—they would have to face a cold night on an unfamiliar mountainside. And looking around at the lean, well-muscled cave-guards, barely out of breath from the tussle with Crowpaw, Stormfur knew they could not hope to survive a fight without injury, and that would make their journey harder than ever. Why didn’t Midnight foresee this? he wondered desperately. Or had she foreseen it, and kept it hidden from them?
He saw that Stoneteller had emerged from his tunnel. Now perhaps we’ll get some answers, he thought.
The cave-guards stepped back to allow their leader to come closer to the Clan cats; Brambleclaw padded forwards to face him. “I think there must be some misunderstanding,” he began. Stormfur could see his efforts to stay calm. “We have to leave tomorrow, and your Tribe doesn’t seem to want us to go. We’re grateful for your help and shelter, but—”
He broke off; Stoneteller wasn’t listening. His eyes glimmered like pebbles on a streambed as he gazed around the group of cats. Raising his voice, he meowed, “I have received a sign from the Tribe of Endless Hunting. It is time for a Telling.”
“A Telling? What’s that?” Squirrelpaw mewed.
“Maybe it’s like a Gathering,” Stormfur murmured.
“But there aren’t any other Tribes to meet with.”
“Then maybe it’s something to do with the Tribe of Endless Hunting.” In spite of his fears that they would not be allowed to leave the cave, Stormfur couldn’t help feeling curious about discovering more of the Tribe’s strange beliefs.
The cave-guards gathered more closely around the Clan cats and began to herd them towards the tunnel from where Stoneteller had just emerged.
“Back off!” Tawnypelt snapped at one of them. “Where are you taking us?”
Stormfur wondered that too. Until now he had assumed that the second tunnel just led to Stoneteller’s private den.
“To the Cave of Pointed Stones,” Stoneteller replied. “There, many things will be made clear to you.”
“And what if we don’t want to go?” Without waiting for a reply, Crowpaw launched himself at the nearest cave-guard, a cat almost twice his size. The cave-guard casually swatted him with a huge paw, sending him half stunned to the floor of the cave. Feathertail spat at the guard and lashed out a paw, claws extended.
Stormfur felt his neck fur stand on end, but before a real fight could break out Brambleclaw hissed, “No! If we’re going to get an explanation, we’ll listen to it. Then we’ll decide what to do. Do you hear me, Crowpaw?”
The apprentice, scrambling to his paws with his fur torn and his tail fluffed out, glared at him but said nothing.
“Get a move on,” growled one of the guards.
Stormfur stumbled, almost losing his balance as the nearest guard butted him towards the tunnel. It took all his self-control to move on quietly. Then he realised that Brook was beside him. There was something like relief in her eyes as she mewed, “Don’t worry. Everything will become clear soon.”
“I’m not worried.” Stormfur’s voice was cold. He had thought they were friends, and she had betrayed him. “You can’t keep us here forever.”
He was almost pleased when she winced. “Please . . .” she whispered. “You don’t understand. It’s for the sake of the Tribe.”
Stormfur curled his lip and turned away. He padded after Tawnypelt into the passage, with a couple of cave-guards close behind.
In the darkness he heard Stoneteller’s voice raised in a soft chant. “When the Tribe of Endless Hunting calls, we come to listen.”
More voices answered him from behind Stormfur, not just the cave-guards but more of the Tribe cats pressing into the tunnel. “In rock and pool, in air and light on water, through fall of prey and cry of kit, through scrape of claw and beat of blood, we hear you.”
The voices echoed through the shadows. Stormfur saw moonlight filtering in from somewhere ahead, and Tawnypelt’s pricked ears outlined in grey. He stepped out into another cave, and for a moment all his fears and frustrations vanished and he stood with his mouth dropped open in awe.
This cave was much smaller than the one they had just left. A jagged rift high in the roof let in a shaft of moonlight that bathed the floor in watery grey light. Stormfur was standing amid a forest of pointed stones, many more than in the main cave; some of them grew up from the floor while others hung down above his head. A few of them had joined together as if they were propping up the roof, pale yellow and rippled with tiny streams of water trickling down to pool on the hard stone floor.
Earlier that day rain had fallen through the hole to leave a pattern of puddles around Stormfur’s paws. The roar of the waterfall, so loud in the outer cave, had sunk to a whisper, faint enough that he could hear drops of water falling from the roof.
All the Clan cats were silent, the same awe, which Stormfur felt, shining in their eyes. The place reminded Stormfur of Mothermouth; as well as being in a moonlit cave, there was the same sense of being in the presence of something greater than himself. But this was not the home of StarClan, but of the Tribe of Endless Hunting, and would they even care about cats from territories far away? A shiver went through him and in his mind he formed a prayer to StarClan. Guard us and guide us, even here.
The cave-guards nudged the Clan cats farther into the cave, while Stoneteller stalked ahead of them until he stood in the centre of the forest of stones. There he turned to face the rest of the cats. “We stand in the Cave of Pointed Stones,” he meowed; his voice was high and expressionless. “Moonrise is here, caught in rock and
in water as it has always been and always will be. It is time for a Telling. We call on the Tribe of Endless Hunting to show us their will.”
“Show us your will,” the other Tribe cats responded in chorus. Almost all of them had pushed into the cave behind the Clan cats; the air was growing warm with their bodies and damp, misty breath.
Moving like a shadow, Stoneteller padded to and fro, peering into the puddles. His eyes shone in the moonlight, and the mud on his fur looked more sinister and stonelike than ever. Brook had told Stormfur that her leader had been given nine lives by the Tribe of Endless Hunting, just as the Clan leaders were given nine lives by StarClan, but he had found it hard to believe until now. Outlined in watery light and surrounded by strange points of rock, Stoneteller looked in possession of more power than all the forest cats put together.
At last the leader of the Tribe paused beside one of the biggest pools, and murmured, “We greet you, Tribe of Endless Hunting, and we thank you for your mercy in saving us at last from Sharptooth.”
“We thank you,” the Tribe cats murmured in response.
Stormfur tensed. Exchanging glances with his friends, he saw his own confusion reflected in their eyes. What did Stoneteller mean? What was Sharptooth, and why did the Tribe need to be saved from it?
“Why is—” Squirrelpaw began, only to be reduced to silence by a hiss from a nearby cave-guard.
Stoneteller went on. “Tribe of Endless Hunting, we thank you for sending the promised cat.”
“We thank you,” the Tribe cats responded again, their voices growing stronger.
Raising his head, Stoneteller commanded, “Let him stand forth.”
Before Stormfur could protest, two of the burly cave-guards thrust him forward. Taken by surprise, he slid sideways into a puddle, shattering the moonlight into glittering splinters. A gasp of shock rose from the Tribe, and he heard a cat mutter, “An evil omen!”
Fighting to stay calm, he shook the water off his paws and walked forwards until he stood beside Stoneteller in the centre of the pointed stones.