“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Stoneteller raised a paw for silence. His eyes glowed in the moonlight with unconcealed triumph as he murmured, “Do not question. This is your fate.”
Glancing around, Stormfur saw that all the Tribe cats were gazing at him with the same expectation in their eyes and a kind of joy, as if he were the most wonderful sight they had ever seen. “It is your fate,” they repeated.
He had been right all along. The Tribe had singled him out as special, and now he was going to find out why.
“The time has come,” Stoneteller intoned solemnly. “The promised cat is here, and at last we will be saved from Sharptooth.”
“I don’t understand!” Stormfur burst out. “I’ve never even heard of Sharptooth.”
As if his words had broken a spell, his friends pressed forwards to stand beside him, only to be shoved back again by the cave-guards. Squirrelpaw spat, and both Crowpaw and Tawnypelt flexed their claws on the cold stone, but Brambleclaw held them back with a word of warning. The cave-guards clearly did not want a fight either; they kept their claws sheathed, only shouldering the forest cats into a tight group.
“Sharptooth is a huge cat,” Stoneteller began, his voice hushed with fear. “He lives in the mountains, and makes the Tribe his prey. For many seasons now he has been picking us off, one by one.”
“He looks like a lion,” Crag added, and asked, “Do you know of lions?”
“We have legends of LionClan,” Stormfur replied, still wondering what Sharptooth could possibly have to do with him. “Lions are known for their strength and wisdom, and they have a golden mane like the sun’s warm rays.”
“Sharptooth has no mane,” Stoneteller meowed. “Perhaps he lost it because he is so evil. He is the enemy of our Tribe.” His voice was bleak, his eyes shining cold with memories. “We feared that he would not rest until every cat of the Tribe had been killed.”
“But then the Tribe of Endless Hunting sent us the promised cat.” Stormfur’s head whipped around as he heard Brook’s voice. She had drawn close to him, and was gazing at him, her eyes filled with admiration. “Stormfur, you’re the chosen one. You’ll save us all. I know you will.”
“How can I?” A slow anger had begun to burn inside Stormfur, replacing his bewilderment. “What do you expect me to do?”
“Before the last full moon, the Tribe of Endless Hunting sent a prophecy to us,” Stoneteller explained. “They said that a silver cat would save us from Sharptooth. We knew as soon as we saw you by the pool that you must be the cat who was promised to us.”
“But I can’t be,” Stormfur protested. “I come from a forest a long way away, and I’ve never even seen Sharptooth.”
“That’s true.” Brambleclaw padded forward to stand beside Stormfur. “We’re sorry that Sharptooth is threatening you, but our Clans at home are in danger too.”
“Maybe even worse danger,” Feathertail added anxiously. “We have to go.”
Stoneteller flicked his ears. Without a word, the cave-guards surrounded the forest cats and began thrusting them back towards the cave entrance—all except Stormfur, who was surrounded by a separate patrol. Feathertail desperately tried to break through to her brother, but the nearest cave-guard bowled her over with a swipe of his paw.
“Take your paws off her, you piece of fox dung!” Crowpaw spat, hurling himself at the cave-guard and raking his claws over the Tribe cat’s ear. The two of them rolled on the ground in a flurry of claws until Brambleclaw hauled Crowpaw away.
“Not now,” he commanded the furious apprentice. “It won’t help any cat for you to get ripped to shreds.”
“We should fight!” snarled Crowpaw. “I’d rather die fighting than be trapped here.”
“Just say the word,” Tawnypelt hissed at her brother. “I’ll tear their pelts off and feed them to the eagles.”
“StarClan, help us!” Feathertail cried out as she was forced back to the tunnel entrance. “Show us you haven’t abandoned us!”
“Do not fear,” Stoneteller meowed reassuringly. “This is the will of the Tribe of Endless Hunting.”
Stormfur felt as though he were falling into deep, dark water as he saw his friends shoved away from him, back to the main cave. When he tried to follow, Crag and another cave-guard moved to block his way.
“Over there,” Crag meowed, pointing with his tail to the other end of the Cave of Pointed Stones. “You’ll find a sleeping hollow ready for you.” As Stormfur faced him with burning eyes, Crag added awkwardly, “It won’t be so bad. You’ll kill Sharptooth for us—the Tribe of Endless Hunting says so—and then you can leave if you still want to.”
“Kill Sharptooth!” Stormfur exclaimed, remembering the rank scent and the shadowy shape he had seen at the top of the waterfall. That must have been Sharptooth, prowling close to the cave entrance; no wonder Brook and the rest of the patrol had been so frightened. “How can I do that, if all of you have failed? This is a mouse-brained idea. You’re all mad.”
“No.” That was Stoneteller again, padding up to stand at Stormfur’s shoulder. “You must have faith in the Tribe of Endless Hunting. The sign was clear, and you came, just as they promised.”
“My faith is in StarClan,” Stormfur retorted, trying to hide how scared he felt inside. Had the spirits of his warrior ancestors really abandoned him?
“Go to your sleeping hollow,” Stoneteller meowed. “We will bring you fresh-kill. Your coming has been long awaited, and you need have no fear that we will ill-treat you.”
No, but you’ll keep me prisoner, Stormfur thought desperately. He padded to the back of the cave to find the sleeping hollow Crag had indicated and found it warmly lined with dried grass and feathers. A couple of tail-lengths away was another scoop in the rock, also lined with bedding, where he guessed Stoneteller slept.
Stormfur lapped water from the nearest pool and then lay down with his head on his paws to try to figure out how to escape. But it was hard to think, with the pain of betrayal still throbbing through him. He had really believed that the Tribe cats liked him, without any of the questions that shadowed his RiverClan friendships about his parentage or his loyalty. Instead, they only wanted him to fulfil their prophecy.
A few moments later Brook appeared, a rabbit in her jaws, and set it down timidly in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Is it really so bad, to stay with the Tribe? I . . . I want to be your friend, Stormfur, if you will let me.” She hesitated, and then added, “I’ll stay with you now, if you like. It is our way to groom each other’s fur, especially in times of hardship. We call it the giving of close comfort.”
She must mean sharing tongues, Stormfur realised. Not long before, he would have been delighted at the thought of sharing tongues with Brook. Now the idea outraged him. Did she really think he would want to be close to her, when she had betrayed him and lied to him?
“Stormfur . . .?” Brook’s eyes shone with compassion, but their glow was like a fire searing Stormfur to the heart. He turned his head away without saying anything.
He heard a faint gasp of pain from Brook, and then her pawsteps vanishing down the tunnel. When she had gone he turned the rabbit over with one paw. He had been hungry at the end of the day’s hunting, but now the thought of eating made him feel sick. Still, he forced himself to choke down the fresh-kill, because he knew that whatever happened next, he would need all his strength.
He curled up in the sleeping hollow and lay staring at the tunnel where his friends had disappeared. Crag and the other cave-guard were on duty at the entrance, and as Stormfur watched, Stoneteller emerged from the shadows and slipped between the guards, back to the main cave. Between them and Stormfur lay pools of shimmering water, lit by the cold moonlight. They reminded Stormfur of the river, but he missed its endless murmuring and the glitter and splash of moving water.
As he closed his eyes and tried to sleep he reflected sadly that he need never have come on this journey at all. He hadn’t been chos
en by StarClan, had never been summoned by a dream. But right now he would have given anything for the whole adventure to have been a dream, if only he could wake up in the morning to find himself back home in RiverClan.
CHAPTER 13
Leafpaw shifted uneasily in a pool of moonlight and listened to the soft sighing of the wind in the oaks at Fourtrees. She and Cinderpelt were on their way to meet with the other medicine cats at Mothermouth, and already the half-moon was high in the sky.
“They’re late,” Cinderpelt meowed. “We’re wasting moonlight.”
Littlecloud, the ShadowClan medicine cat, settled himself more comfortably in a hollow in the grass. “They’ll be along soon.”
Cinderpelt’s tail-tip twitched. “We need all the time we have at the Moonstone, especially tonight. We have to find out what we should do about the Twolegs.”
Leafpaw tried to curb her own impatience with the RiverClan medicine cats, who should have met them long before now. Perhaps sharing tongues with StarClan wasn’t so important to them, when their own territory hadn’t been invaded by the Twoleg monsters. Everything was quiet now; the Twoleg monsters slept at night, but Leafpaw knew they were still there, squatting on the scarred ground among the trees they hadn’t destroyed yet. The silence in the forest was unnatural, without the small sounds of prey that always seemed louder at night.
Her belly rumbled at the thought of prey. Cinderpelt had given her travelling herbs to quell her appetite before they set out, but they didn’t help her hunger when she couldn’t remember the last time she had been full-fed. All the Clan cats were suffering; lack of food had begun to weaken them so that they couldn’t run as fast and catch what prey there was. With leaf-bare looming ever closer, crisping the leaves and sending them spiralling to the ground in the chill breeze, Leafpaw couldn’t see what help StarClan might give.
To her embarrassment, her belly rumbled again, loud enough for the others to hear. Littlecloud shot her a sympathetic glance.
“Blackstar has sent warriors to fetch rats and crowfood from Carrionplace,” he told Cinderpelt. His eyes darkened. “We haven’t had any sickness yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“I hope you remember the herbs and berries I gave you when you were ill,” Cinderpelt meowed.
“I’ve been collecting them. I know I’ll need them soon.”
“And tell your Clan not to touch any crowfood,” Cinderpelt advised. “Fresh rats might be OK, but not carrion.”
Littlecloud sighed. “I’ve tried, but what can I do when Blackstar gives the orders? Most of our cats are too hungry to care what they’re eating.”
Just then Leafpaw caught sight of Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat, and his apprentice, Mothwing, climbing the slope from the river. She leaped to her paws, delighted to see her friend again, though she could not suppress a pang of envy that Mothwing looked so well fed, her long golden fur sleek with good health.
“At last!” Cinderpelt growled as the two cats came up. “I was beginning to think a fish must have jumped out of the river and swallowed you.”
“Well, we’re here now.” Mudfur hardly paused for greetings, but led the way around the top of the hollow towards the WindClan border.
Cinderpelt and Littlecloud followed, while Leafpaw and Mothwing brought up the rear, side by side.
“I got into trouble about that fishing lesson,” Leafpaw whispered. “I knew I should not have eaten your prey.”
“Your leader’s got no right!” Mothwing meowed indignantly. “We’re medicine cats.”
“Still, we shouldn’t have done it,” Leafpaw replied. “Medicine cats have to stick to the warrior code as much as any cat.”
Mothwing just snorted. “I think I’m getting on really well,” she mewed after a moment. “Mudfur taught me the herbs to use for greencough and blackcough, and the best way to get thorns out of pads. He said he’d never seen a cat do it so neatly.”
“That’s great!” Leafpaw purred. She didn’t mind her friend boasting because she knew how insecure Mothwing felt. Because she was the daughter of a rogue, many of her own Clan thought that she should never have been allowed to train as a medicine cat. Mothwing was desperate to prove them wrong.
As they approached the WindClan border, Leafpaw felt a twinge of nervousness. It was not long since the confrontation with WindClan, and she knew that their warriors would still be hostile. They seemed determined to keep their starvation a secret, even though it was horribly obvious from their scrawny frames and dull eyes. Would they be desperate enough to attack medicine cats if they found them on their territory? She said nothing; Firestar would be furious if she gossiped with Mothwing about that fateful encounter.
None of the medicine cats paused as they crossed the border. They hurried on, their pace set by Cinderpelt’s limping gait. Coming to the top of a gentle rise, Leafpaw found herself looking down on the worst scene yet of Twoleg devastation. The scar on WindClan’s territory was much longer and wider now than when she and Sorreltail had first seen it. A couple of Twoleg monsters squatted there, moonlight glinting off their shiny pelts. If a hill got in their way they just gorged a path through it, leaving earth piled high on either side. Were they going to devour the whole moor?
Shuddering, Leafpaw bounded on behind her mentor. Not far from the WindClan camp, Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat, emerged from behind a gorse bush. Even though Leafpaw had been prepared for him to look hungry, it was a shock to see how thin he was—barely more than a walking skeleton covered by his ragged pelt.
Cinderpelt went up and touched noses with him sympathetically. “StarClan be with you, Barkface,” she mewed.
“And with all my Clan.” Barkface heaved a great sigh. “Sometimes I think StarClan wants every one of us to join them, and not even a kit left to keep the warrior code alive.”
“Perhaps they will show us what to do when we share dreams at the Moonstone,” Cinderpelt tried to encourage him.
“It’s getting worse for WindClan.” Mothwing’s amber eyes were wide as she murmured the words to Leafpaw. “They’ve been stealing fish from the river again, you know. Hawkfrost caught a couple of them, and chased them off.”
“They have to find prey somewhere.” Leafpaw knew that what the WindClan warriors were doing was wrong, but she couldn’t blame them. Not when the river was full of fish, enough to feed all the Clans. Fleetingly, she realised that Firestar was right—the Twolegs were destroying the forest, but in doing so they were also destroying the invisible boundaries between the Clans as well. Maybe the cats would survive only by joining together after all.
Mothwing paused to scent the air. “Hang on, I can smell rabbit—at least, I think it’s rabbit; it smells funny somehow. Yes, look, over there!”
She gestured with her tail at a dip in the moorland where a small stream chattered over stones. Lying beside it was a small, brown-furred body.
“It’s dead,” Leafpaw pointed out.
Mothwing shrugged. “So it’s crowfood. I imagine WindClan can’t afford to be too fussy. Hey, Barkface!” she called. “Look what I found.” She bounded down the slope towards the rabbit.
“Stop!” Barkface commanded. “Don’t touch it!”
Mothwing skidded to a halt beside the limp bundle of fur and looked back up the slope. “What’s the matter?”
Barkface padded down to join her, followed by Leafpaw and the other medicine cats. Warily he approached the rabbit and sniffed it. Leafpaw sniffed too, and recognised the harsh tang she had picked up when she and Sorreltail had visited WindClan territory. Her stomach churned and she swallowed to stop herself from gagging. Whatever had happened to this rabbit, it wasn’t fit for food.
“Yes, I thought so,” Barkface murmured, his eyes clouding. “There’s that scent again . . .” Facing the other cats, he explained quietly, “Twolegs have done something bad to the rabbits in the territory. They all die. And if cats eat them, they die too. We have lost half our elders and nearly all of our apprentices.”
&nbs
p; There was a horrified silence. Compassion lanced through Leafpaw. Tallstar had said nothing of this when he confronted Firestar; the proud WindClan leader would rather let other Clans think his cats could not catch prey in their territory, than that their own fresh-kill was killing them, one by one.
“And you couldn’t help them?” Mudfur asked.
“Do you think I didn’t try?” Barkface sounded desperate. “I gave them yarrow to make them sick, just as we do for deathberries. Two of the strongest pulled through, but most of them died.” His claws tore up the grass in front of him; his eyes burned with grief and frustration. “What hope is there for us when even our prey can kill us?”
Cinderpelt limped up to him and pressed her muzzle against his side. “Let’s go on,” she murmured. “We’ll ask StarClan for guidance about this as well as everything else.”
“Shouldn’t we bury the rabbit?” Leafpaw suggested as the cats began to climb the slope again. “In case some other cat finds it?”
Barkface shook his head. “There’s no point. No WindClan cat would touch it now.” His lips stretched in a wry snarl. “We know better than to trust fresh-kill from inside our own borders.” Head bowed, tail drooping, he plodded on across the moor toward Highstones.
Leafpaw blinked in the silver light from the Moonstone, letting it soothe her until she felt like a fish sinking into deep water. Here in the cavern, far below Highstones, it was easy to believe that StarClan ruled everything, and the troubles of the world above were too far away to matter. But medicine cats came to the Moonstone only so that they could learn the wisdom of StarClan and take it back to help their Clans. In these dark days, they needed that wisdom more than ever.
The other medicine cats were lying with her around the stone. Mothwing was next to her; the RiverClan cat’s eyes were wide with wonder as she gazed at the shimmering crystal surface. Trying to focus her thoughts, Leafpaw pushed away the questions that nagged her about Mothwing and her aggressive brother, Hawkfrost. Mothwing had a right to be here; StarClan themselves had approved her with a moth’s wing left at the entrance to Mudfur’s den before she had finally been accepted as a medicine cat apprentice.