“Keep your eyes open,” Firestar replied. “That’s all you can do.”
“I wouldn’t put it past Cloudtail to have gone back to the Twolegs,” Mousefur growled. “With so little prey in the forest, even Twoleg food must look tempting.”
“And he ate it often enough when he was an apprentice,” Ashfur put in.
“Yes, don’t forget the time he left us,” Mousefur mewed. “Cats were put at risk, rescuing him from the Twolegs.”
“That’s enough!” Greystripe hissed.
“No, she’s right.” Leafpaw couldn’t believe how tired her father sounded. “Cloudtail has always had a paw in the Twoleg world. But I thought he was loyal to his Clan now.”
“Of course he is. You’re not being fair to him.” Cinderpelt’s voice was sharp. “It’s been a long time since Cloudtail ate kittypet food. He was young and stupid then.”
“Besides, Brightheart would never do that.” Greystripe supported his missing Clanmates with a flash of his amber eyes. “And Cloudtail wouldn’t go off without her. We have to figure out why they’re both missing.”
“And why they left Whitepaw behind,” Thornclaw meowed. “She’s their only kit.”
Mousefur grunted. “True. I wonder if they went over to RiverClan?” she suggested. “Stealing fish?”
“Now I wouldn’t put that past Cloudtail,” Cinderpelt agreed, but there was no hostility in her voice.
Greystripe thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. If RiverClan caught them they’d just chase them off. There’d be trouble at the next Gathering, but our cats wouldn’t just disappear.”
Unless they fell in the river, Leafpaw thought, not daring to put words to the idea. She couldn’t forget the surge of flood-water when she nearly fell off the stepping-stones, on her way to help Reedpaw.
“Their scent trail didn’t lead towards RiverClan,” Firestar pointed out. “I can’t help thinking it’s strange that it ended so close to the Twoleg monsters. Suppose . . .”
He let his voice die away, but Leafpaw saw the anxiety in his eyes, and she could guess what his thoughts were. She had seen how the first Twoleg monster turned from the Thunderpath and began to tear up the forest. If a cat got in its way it could be crunched in those powerful jaws without the monster even realising it. She shivered, and her gaze met her father’s. They were both fond of their wayward kin Cloudtail, and Leafpaw loved Brightheart fiercely for her courage in coping with the terrible injuries from the dog pack. The two cats would be a great loss to their Clan.
“Just carry on as usual, Mousefur,” Firestar decided. “And report if you see anything odd.”
“I always do.” Mousefur hurried off with the two younger warriors behind her.
Firestar shook himself as if he was pushing useless thoughts away. “Cinderpelt, has StarClan shown you anything at all about Cloudtail and Brightheart?”
“No,” Cinderpelt replied. “Nothing at all.”
“Or any signs about more warriors going missing in the forest? It’s . . . it’s not all that long since Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw disappeared.” He choked the words out like half-eaten bones.
Again Cinderpelt shook her head. “StarClan is silent. I’m sorry.”
Yet again, Leafpaw struggled with the urge to tell her father and mentor what she knew, that Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw had been summoned away by StarClan to discover something that would help the forest. But she hardly knew what to say any more. Whenever she tried to reach Squirrelpaw she had nothing but confused, terrifying impressions of rushing water, darkness, and raking claws—blood, rock, and water churned together. She couldn’t reassure Firestar that Squirrelpaw was all right, nor give Greystripe hopeful news of his missing children from RiverClan.
“Perhaps I ought to make a trip to Highstones,” Firestar meowed. “StarClan might speak to me, if—”
He broke off as Brackenfur came up, his apprentice, Whitepaw, just behind him. Leafpaw’s heart went out to her. The young cat’s head was bowed, and her tail trailed in the dust. She was obviously grieving for the loss of her parents.
“Firestar, I think you ought to have a word with Whitepaw,” Brackenfur mewed worriedly.
Firestar’s ears flicked up. “Why, what’s the matter?”
Whitepaw looked up at him. “I want to be excused from training,” she begged, her eyes burning with the intensity of her plea. “I want to look for Cloudtail and Brightheart.”
“I’ve told her she can’t go off on her own,” Brackenfur continued. “But she—”
“Please,” Whitepaw interrupted. “I’m only an apprentice. The Clan can do without me. I’ve got to find them.”
Firestar shook his head. “I’m sorry, Whitepaw,” he meowed gently. “Apprentices are important to the Clan, just as much as any other cat. Besides, Brackenfur is quite right. You can’t go wandering off by yourself, especially now, when we don’t know what the danger is. In fact, no cat should leave camp alone.”
“We’ve searched already,” Greystripe added. “We did everything we could.”
“But it wasn’t enough!” Whitepaw wailed. Leafpaw knew that Whitepaw would never have spoken to the Clan deputy like that if she hadn’t been driven out of her mind with worry.
“StarClan will be with them wherever they are,” Cinderpelt murmured comfortingly, pressing her nose into Whitepaw’s fur.
“Brackenfur, take out a hunting patrol,” Firestar meowed. “StarClan knows, we can use the fresh-kill. Whitepaw, go with him; you can keep your eyes open for Cloudtail and Brightheart as well. But you’re not to leave your mentor, is that clear?”
Whitepaw nodded; she was looking a little more hopeful.
“I’ll go with you,” Greystripe offered, “and I’ll get Sand -storm to come as well. If any cat can find them, she can.” He hurried off into the warriors’ den.
“Thank you, Firestar,” mewed Whitepaw, dipping her head respectfully before following her mentor towards the camp entrance.
Leafpaw watched until Greystripe and Sandstorm came to join them, and all four cats disappeared into the gorse tunnel.
“We aren’t safe in our own territory anymore,” Firestar murmured. “But surely four cats can’t go missing without—”
He broke off as a low, feeble wail rose up from the nursery. Leafpaw whipped around to see Dustpelt emerge. He staggered forwards for a couple of tail-lengths and sank to the ground as if his legs would not hold him up.
With a glance at her father, Leafpaw dashed across to him, visions of disaster rushing through her head. Firestar and Cinderpelt followed, and came to a stop in front of Dustpelt.
“Are you hurt?” Firestar demanded.
The brown tabby warrior gazed up at his leader with eyes as dull as pebbles. “It wasn’t her fault,” he whispered. “Fern -cloud did her best. But she hasn’t been eating enough to keep herself alive, let alone three kits.”
As he finished speaking, Leafpaw heard the wail break out again, echoing with enough grief for the death of a whole Clan.
“What is it?” she cried.
Dustpelt gave her a long, hopeless stare. “Larchkit is dead.”
Instantly, Cinderpelt whisked past Dustpelt, on her way to Ferncloud in the nursery. Firestar rested his tail-tip on the brown warrior’s shoulder, in a vain attempt to comfort him. Dustpelt briefly pushed his nose into his leader’s flame-coloured fur. Leafpaw felt her throat tighten to see the two cats, who had never been friends, brought close together by their shared grief.
“What next?” Firestar meowed, lifting his head to the grey morning sky. “StarClan, what trouble will you send to ThunderClan now?”
CHAPTER 19
What was that? Every hair on Stormfur’s pelt shot up in fear. He and his friends were trapped in this dark hole; whoever had just spoken was blocking the entrance, and there was nowhere else to go. Desperately he tasted the air and picked out the scents of several cats, all of them smelling of Tribe, and yet not Tribe.
“Who are you?” he dem
anded.
For an answer he felt a powerful shoulder thrusting him aside as the strange cat entered the cave. There was the soft sound of pawsteps as the others followed.
Then he heard Brambleclaw’s voice, tense but still calm. “We are travelling to our home far from here and we took shelter only for the night. We have no quarrel with you.”
The strange cat spoke again. “This is our place.”
“Then we’ll leave,” Tawnypelt mewed. She padded towards the entrance, and the other cats shuffled round to follow her.
Stormfur felt his fur begin to lie flat again. With any luck they could get out of here without a fight. These cats couldn’t have come from the Tribe of Rushing Water, or they would have known who he and his companions were. Yet they carried the Tribe’s scent; Stormfur was puzzled, but he was content to leave the mystery behind him if they could just get away safely.
“Not so fast,” the newcomer growled. “How do we know you’re telling the truth? I don’t know you, and I don’t know your scent.”
“Talon, we should take them prisoner.” A soft hiss came from one of the other cats. “We might be able to use them as bait for Sharptooth.”
“You know about Sharptooth?” Stormfur exclaimed.
“Of course we know about Sharptooth,” rumbled the first voice, the one called Talon. “Every cat in these mountains knows about Sharptooth.”
As he spoke, Stormfur realised that the darkness was no longer unbroken. Gradually the shapes of the strange cats were outlined in faint grey light as dawn filtered down the tunnel. Every hair on Stormfur’s pelt prickled with fear as he looked at them.
The first of them, Talon, was one of the biggest cats he had ever seen, a dark brown tabby with massive shoulders and huge paws. His ragged pelt was bristling with hostility, and a deep scar stretched across one side of his face, curling his lip in a frozen snarl. His amber eyes were narrowed, his gaze flicking suspiciously over the forest cats.
Behind him were two other cats, a scrawny black tom whose tail was little more than a jagged stump, and a grey-brown she-cat. Both of them flexed their claws as if they could hardly wait to sink them into the Clan cats’ fur.
Although the Clan cats outnumbered the strangers two to one, Stormfur didn’t like their chances in a fight. They certainly wouldn’t get away without serious injuries. He could see his friends were thinking the same; even the aggressive Crowpaw was silent, his gaze fixed warily on the strangers.
“We have seen Sharptooth and we know how savage he is.” Brambleclaw was still trying to keep the exchange peaceful. “But we’re on an urgent mission and we have to leave.”
“You’ll go when I say you can,” Talon growled.
“You can’t keep us here!” Stormfur winced as Squirrelpaw spoke up, her green eyes blazing. There was nothing wrong with her courage, but sometimes she hadn’t the sense of a mayfly. “We’ve already escaped from the Tribe of Rushing Water.”
Crowpaw let out a furious hiss, and for once Stormfur sympathised with him. Squirrelpaw needed to be a lot more careful about what she told these terrifying cats.
But to Stormfur’s surprise, the suspicion in Talon’s gaze seemed to fade. “You have been with the Tribe?”
“That’s right,” meowed Brambleclaw. “You know of them, then?”
“We know much, and too much,” Talon replied, and the tabby she-cat added, “We were once Tribe cats too.”
Stormfur stared at her in astonishment; he had assumed that these cats were homeless rogues. It would explain the puzzling scent, if they had once belonged to the Tribe, but he remembered how the Tribe had refused to turn the Clan cats out at night in case they met Sharptooth. If they had been that concerned about strangers, it seemed odd that they would let their own Tribemates live outside the cave. Unless they had committed a crime that outweighed the threat of Sharptooth . . .
“Did the Tribe make you leave?” he asked.
“As good as,” Talon grunted. Slowly his bristling fur began to lie flat. He flicked his tail at his two companions, which they seemed to take as an order to guard the entrance, for they settled down one on either side of it. “Sit,” Talon said to the forest cats. “Sit and we will talk. But don’t try to leave, unless you want to lose your ears.”
Stormfur believed that he meant the threat. Cautiously he sat down; his friends did the same, making themselves as comfortable as they could on the bare sandy floor. As the light strengthened Stormfur made out his surroundings more clearly: The roof of the cave was thickly interlaced with roots, stretching above earth walls, with more roots and stones jutting out here and there. He could not see any bedding, any fresh-kill pile, or any other sign that these three cats lived here permanently. Yet Talon had said it was where they regularly came to shelter. It must be a harsh life that they led here.
“My name is Talon of Swooping Eagle,” the huge tabby began, raising one paw to the scar on his face. “An eagle’s talon did this when I was a kit, and gave me my name as well as a mark to remind me how close I came to losing my life. This is Rock Where Snow Gathers and Bird Who Rides the Wind.” He pointed his tail at the black tom and the she-cat in turn.
Stormfur’s fear began to ebb. Somehow knowing the strangers’ names made them seem less like enemies.
“Many seasons ago,” Talon went on, “the Tribe of Endless Hunting sent a sign to Stoneteller. They chose six cats to leave the shelter of the caves and go out into the mountains to face Sharptooth and kill him. We are three of that six.”
“What happened to the others?” Crowpaw put in.
“Sharptooth happened,” Rock snarled from his place by the entrance. “He nearly had me, too. How do you think I lost my tail?”
“So, wait,” Tawnypelt mewed. “The Tribe sent you out to kill Sharptooth?”
Talon bowed his head. “Stoneteller ordered us not to come back without his pelt.”
“But that’s mouse-brained!” Squirrelpaw burst out. “How could six of you kill Sharptooth when the whole of the Tribe couldn’t do it?”
The tabby looked up again, and Stormfur winced at the depths of bitterness in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Do you think we haven’t asked ourselves that question? I’d give the fur off my back to save my Tribe, but what can any of us do?”
Feathertail let out a comforting murmur. “Could you not go to Stoneteller and tell him you’ve done your best? He might let you back in.”
“No!” Talon’s eyes blazed at her. “I won’t crawl to him and beg. Besides, what use would it be? We all obey the will of the Tribe of Endless Hunting.”
Stormfur blinked. There were times when the words of his own warrior ancestors seemed harsh and difficult to understand, but he could not remember StarClan ever banishing cats to a lonely existence that could only end in their death. Would I have the courage to obey if they did? he wondered.
“I’m surprised we didn’t hear about you before,” Bramble -claw meowed. “They told us about Sharptooth, but no cat mentioned you.”
Talon snorted. “They’ve probably forgotten all about us.”
“Or they’re ashamed,” Bird added grimly.
“You’ve just left the Tribe recently?” Talon asked. When Brambleclaw nodded, he went on with longing in his voice. “There’s a cat . . . her name is Brook Where Small Fish Swim. Did you see her there?”
Stormfur’s ears pricked up. For a heartbeat, jealous fury swept through him at the obvious affection with which this ragged loner spoke of the prey-hunter.
“Yes, we met Brook,” Feathertail replied.
“Is she all right? Happy?”
“She’s fine,” Tawnypelt told him. “And as happy as any of them are with Sharptooth breathing down their necks.”
“Because we failed . . .” All Talon’s bitterness was in the three words. “Brook’s my sister,” he went on, letting out an awkward mrrow, half amused and half embarrassed. “You’d not think a pretty cat like that was related to me, would you? She’s from a younger litte
r, and when Sharptooth took our mother I wanted to be there to look out for Brook.”
Stormfur relaxed. What was the matter with him? Why should he care that Brook was Talon’s sister, and not his mate?
“She would have come with me,” Talon went on. “But it wasn’t the will of the Tribe of Endless Hunting. I was glad. This is no sort of life.”
Stormfur knew he was right. He flinched as he thought about the destruction that Sharptooth had brought to the Tribe: not only the cats he had killed for prey, but the lives he had destroyed in their desperate attempts to kill him. Cats driven into exile, separated from their kin . . .
And what if he really was the chosen cat, destined to save the Tribe from Sharptooth? Had he any right to refuse his destiny? The thought crossed his mind that he ought to go back, but the idea terrified him so much that he pushed it away. He and his friends had their own mission, to tell their Clans what they had learned from Midnight, and nothing must be allowed to interfere with that. They had to tell the Clans to leave the forest before it was destroyed by the Twolegs’ new Thunderpath.
The light in the cave had grown brighter and turned golden, as if the rain had stopped and the sun had risen above the mountaintops. Feeling as if he could not bear to be trapped belowground for another heartbeat, Stormfur rose to his paws.
“Will you let us out to hunt? We need fresh-kill.”
Talon glanced at his companions.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Brambleclaw assured him. “We’re all exhausted, and we need to rest.”
After another pause, the tabby shrugged. “Go, stay, do what you want. It’s nothing to do with us. We wouldn’t feed you to Sharptooth, whatever Rock might say.”
Stormfur pushed his way through the narrow tunnel and out on to the mountainside. The sun hovered over the topmost peak; that was the way they should be going, following the sunrise until they came home to the forest.
Squirrelpaw followed him out, and stood looking around alertly, as if she had not spent all night scrambling about on the mountain in the pouring rain. “Right,” she meowed. “Where’s the fresh-kill?”