Stormfur strode over to him and laid at his feet the piece of prey he had carried all the way through the mountains: a mountain hare, its pelt just beginning to turn white for leaf-bare.
“What’s this?” Stoneteller’s voice was cold, and his eyes were hostile. “Why have you come back?”
“To help you defeat Sharptooth,” Stormfur replied.
His heart began to pound even faster when he saw neither welcome nor relief in the Healer’s expression. “And just what do you think you can do?”
His gaze swept around the cavern; following it, Stormfur saw the Tribe creeping out of the shadows. They looked curious but wary. The friendship they had begun to show towards the cats had been scorched by the shock of Sharptooth’s attack, and Stormfur’s failure to save them in spite of their warrior ancestors’ promise. Like Stoneteller, many of them bore raw scars or limped heavily from fresh wounds. Stormfur searched for Brook, but could not see her.
“Sharptooth took Star yesterday,” Stoneteller growled. “Many cats were injured as we tried to drive him out. One has already died, and two others lie on the border of the Tribe of Endless Hunting. You didn’t help us then. You ran away.”
His contempt struck Stormfur like a claw. Even worse was the murmur of agreement from the gathering Tribe, as if they had felt betrayed by his flight, just as he had felt betrayed when they made him a prisoner. He heard a hostile hiss from one of the Clan cats—he guessed it was Crowpaw—and hoped that the apprentice would keep quiet.
“I didn’t believe I was the promised cat,” he meowed honestly. “And I didn’t like being trapped in the Cave of Pointed Stones. But since I escaped, I’ve been thinking . . . and I’ve come back freely. Even if I’m not the cat who was named in the prophecy, I’ll do all I can to help.”
“We all will,” Brambleclaw added, coming to stand at Stormfur’s shoulder.
The Tribe’s Healer began to relax. There were more murmurs from the cats around him, and some at least sounded approving.
Then he heard Brook’s voice behind him. “Stormfur! I knew you would come back.”
Stormfur turned to see her slipping through the crowd. A shiver ran through his pelt as he looked at her shining eyes and heard the welcome in her voice.
“We should listen to him,” she urged Stoneteller. “The Tribe of Endless Hunting has sent him to help us. Why else would he come back, after seeing what Sharptooth can do?”
Stoneteller looked as if he lacked energy to believe anything anymore, but he bowed his head. “Very well,” he said. “But what are you going to do that we haven’t tried before? Sharptooth has killed the best fighters in my Tribe as if they were puny kits.”
Stormfur flicked his ears to beckon Squirrelpaw forwards. She carried a wad of leaves in her jaws. “Show Stoneteller what you have,” he mewed, and added into her ear, “I hope you haven’t swallowed any.”
Squirrelpaw dropped the leaves. “I’m not mouse-brained!” she muttered indignantly.
Turning back to Stoneteller, Stormfur prodded the hare with one paw. “This prey is for Sharptooth,” he meowed. “And inside it, we’ll put these.” Delicately he unwrapped the leaves to reveal a small heap of glossy red berries.
A kit who was crouched with its mother at the front of the tribe took a step forward to sniff them curiously; Squirrelpaw thrust her tail in its way and guided it back to its mother.
“Don’t touch,” she mewed. “Even one of those would give you the worst bellyache you’ve ever had—if you survived.”
The kit stared at her with huge eyes and said nothing.
Gazing at the berries, the Tribe’s healer let out a faint hiss and took a step back. “Night-seeds?”
“You know them?” Stormfur asked. “In our Clans, we call them deathberries.”
“I know all the herbs and berries that grow in these mountains,” Stoneteller responded. For a moment a gleam of interest showed in his eyes; then he bent his head again and when he spoke his voice was defeated. “And none of that knowledge is any use to protect my Tribe. Sharptooth is too strong. Not even your deathberries will defeat him.”
“Three will kill the strongest warrior.” Squirrelpaw spoke up boldly. “I think what we have here would be enough even for Sharptooth.”
Stoneteller looked surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Even if they don’t,” Stormfur added, “they’ll weaken him so we can finish him off.”
Stoneteller still looked undecided. His shoulders were bowed as if the whole weight of the mountains rested on them.
Then Stormfur heard a stir among the Tribe cats, hostile muttering that swelled to furious yowling. Talon was thrusting his way forwards to stand before the Healer; thanks to the shadows that darkened the cave most of the Tribe had only just noticed that the outlaws had returned.
Talon stood stone-still, while his former Tribemates hurled accusations at him.
“You were supposed to kill Sharptooth!”
“You failed us!”
“Stoneteller, he’s disobeying you by coming here. Kill him!”
Instinctively, the Clan cats gathered round Talon, ready to defend him. Crowpaw’s neck fur stood on end, and Tawnypelt had unsheathed her claws. Even the gentle Feathertail lashed her tail from side to side. Stormfur felt as proud of his warriors as any Clan leader.
Stoneteller lifted his tail for silence, but it was several heartbeats before the clamour died away. “Well?” the Healer growled. “I hope you have good reason for coming here.”
“The best reason,” Talon replied. “You can kill me if you like, but that won’t make you any stronger against Sharptooth. Your enemy is outside this cave, not inside. The silver cat has come, and it is time to believe the prophecy of the Tribe of Endless Hunting. If we fail, then you can kill us.”
The Tribe fell silent. Their hostility had changed to uncertainty; Stormfur let his neck fur lie flat again.
“We cannot kill the creature in its lair,” Talon went on, “since we do not know where it lives. So we must bring it here to die.”
“Here?” Brook exclaimed, one voice among many cries of outrage. “In our cave?”
Stormfur reached out with his tail and rested it on her shoulder. She had to trust him, however dangerous their plan seemed.
“Yes, here,” Talon growled. “This is the place we know, where we have somewhere to hide, and where the whole Tribe can wait to ambush Sharptooth if we need to give him the death blow.”
“And how do you propose to bring him here?” Stoneteller asked icily.
“With blood.”
Talon lifted one huge paw and sliced it open with his teeth; scarlet drops spattered to the ground like rain. Then he raised his head and let out a ferocious yowl that echoed around the cavern, louder than the waterfall outside. He spun round and dashed out of the entrance, Rock and Bird racing on his heels.
They left behind them a dizzy, echoing silence, apart from the sound of water. Stormfur let out a long breath. The plan had begun. The trail of blood was being laid.
Brambleclaw was the first to speak. “Squirrelpaw and Stormfur, you stuff the hare. Be sure you don’t get any deathberry juice on your fur, and if you do, wash it off right away.”
“Yes, O medicine cat.” Squirrelpaw bowed her head with mock respect, her green eyes flashing. “We know what to do!”
Stormfur listened while Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt discussed the best place to leave the hare. Stoneteller was giving orders to his cave-guards, and sending the kits and kit-mothers to the nursery. Guards were placed at the entrance to that tunnel, while more of the cave-guards and the prey-hunters scrambled into places on the rocks around the cave walls where they could spring down on Sharptooth. Their mud-streaked fur blended into the walls so that Stormfur could hardly see where they were hiding.
All the while a sense of dread was growing inside him. Somehow he felt like something terrible was going to happen. But why, if this was what the Tribe of Endless Hunting wanted him to do? He drank in the
air, but he could scent nothing of Silverstream now, nor sense her reassuring presence.
“It will be all right.” Feathertail came up to him and pressed her muzzle against his. “I know you’re scared, but StarClan sent you here as well, with your dream about our mother. We have to do this.”
Crowpaw, a grey-black shadow hovering at Feathertail’s shoulder, nodded but said nothing.
An icy paw gripped Stormfur. Something was wrong; he knew it. There was something they had not understood, something they had not planned for. He looked around for Brambleclaw, wanting to share his fears with him, and saw him dragging the hare across the floor to lay it in front of the entrance, a few tail-lengths inside the cave. Tawnypelt watched, measuring the distance between the bait and the entrance, while Squirrelpaw made helpful gestures with her tail.
Stormfur padded over to them, feeling the eyes of the hidden Tribe staring at him from every corner of the cave. But before he could say anything, a screech split the air outside. Talon, Rock, and Bird dashed into the cave and skidded to a halt.
“Sharptooth!” Bird gasped.
“He’s here!” Rock yowled, his voice rising to a wail. “He’s coming!”
CHAPTER 23
Stormfur froze. It was too soon!
The outlaws dived for the cave walls, and the Tribe cats who had not already taken up their positions pelted down the tunnel to the Cave of Pointed Stones. Stormfur and his friends were left in the center of the cavern, staring around in panic.
Their moment’s hesitation was a moment too long. A ferocious snarling sliced through the noise of the waterfall. A shadow fell across from the entrance, etched in moonlight. Then Sharptooth burst upon them.
Just as the Tribe had said, he looked like a lion from the elders’ tales, but without the fiery mane around his head. Lean muscles rippled beneath his short-haired pelt, and his massive gold head was lowered, following the trail of Talon’s blood. When he entered the cave he looked up. He saw the hare, and swiped it aside with one vast paw.
“No!” Squirrelpaw yowled.
Her screech brought the huge head swinging around, the round, thick-furred ears twitching with interest.
“Get back!” snarled Brambleclaw. “All of you, hide!”
He leaped towards the lion-cat, lashing out with both front paws and rolling aside before Sharptooth could turn on him. Stormfur saw Squirrelpaw dash in from the other side and spring on to Sharptooth’s back, sinking her claws into the base of his tail.
“Squirrelpaw!” Brambleclaw yowled. “What in StarClan’s name are you doing?”
As the lion-cat twisted, trying to dislodge her, Squirrelpaw leaped down and fled for the boulders that lined the cave wall. With a roar of fury, Sharptooth launched himself after her, but she was too fast for him, scrambling out of reach to stand hissing on a jutting piece of rock, her ginger fur fluffed up.
Stormfur fled to the opposite cave wall, following Feathertail up a series of cracks in the rock until they reached a tiny ledge tucked under the roof. Crouching in the narrow space beside his sister, he looked down at the cave floor.
The Tribe cats were all in their hiding places, too scared to move. Brambleclaw had gained safety too, on another ledge just below Squirrelpaw. He was snarling up at her, looking almost as furious as Sharptooth himself; Stormfur couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could guess.
For a moment Stormfur could not see Tawnypelt; then he spotted her head poking out of a cleft halfway up the cave wall near the entrance. That just left Crowpaw. Then Stormfur felt Feathertail tense against him and heard her murmur, “Oh, no!”
Sharptooth was scraping at the cave wall almost directly below them. Stormfur caught a terrifying glimpse of his eyes, glaring black in the moonlight, and his lips drawn back to reveal savage, dripping fangs. Crowpaw was trapped in a crevice at floor level that was too shallow to shelter him, desperately trying to press himself against the rock and escape the vicious claws. A cry of terror escaped him.
Stormfur felt his belly flip over. Everything was going wrong. Sharptooth had ignored the baited hare and pursued the cats instead. Within heartbeats he would have Crowpaw, and StarClan’s mission would be ruined. How could four Clans become one if the WindClan cat were killed? Stormfur cursed himself under his breath; there was nothing that he could do, because he was not the cat the Tribe’s warrior ancestors had promised. His stupid, thoughtless pride had gotten it wrong.
Beside him, he heard Feathertail whisper, “Crowpaw.” She gave Stormfur a long look, filled with love and sorrow, her blue eyes glowing in the moonlight. “I can hear the voices clearly now,” she murmured. “This is for me to do.”
Then Stormfur felt her muscles bunch. Before he realised what she was doing, she leaped—not down, but up towards the cave roof, digging her claws into one of the narrow talons of stone with a grating noise that sent shudders along Stormfur’s spine.
“No!” he yowled.
The rock split and broke away under Feathertail’s weight. With a terrifying wail she plummeted down, straight at Sharptooth. The lion-cat looked up. His throaty growl changed to a scream as the spike of rock plunged into him; he fell writhing to the ground. Feathertail plummeted to the floor of the cave beside him.
Stormfur hurled himself down the wall, slipping on the rock and feeling his claws rip, until he reached his sister’s side. Feathertail lay without moving, her eyes closed. Sharptooth was still twitching, but as Stormfur scrambled to a halt the lion-cat gave one massive shudder and died.
“Feathertail?” Stormfur whispered.
He was aware of Crowpaw creeping out of the rock to crouch beside him. “Feathertail?” The WindClan cat sounded desperate. “Feathertail, are you OK?”
Feathertail did not move. Stormfur lifted his head and saw the other Clan cats gathering around him, along with cats from the Tribe, creeping fearfully from their hiding places. He dropped his gaze back to his sister, and saw the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
“She’ll be fine.” His voice cracked. “She’s got to be. She . . . she has a prophecy to fulfil.”
Crowpaw crept forwards until his nose touched Feather tail’s fur. He breathed in her scent, and then began to lick her gently. Blood from a slash on his shoulder smudged against her pelt. “Wake up, Feathertail,” he whispered. “Please wake up.”
There was no response. An achingly familiar scent wreathed around Stormfur, and he looked up. “Silverstream?”
Near the entrance to the cave, where moonlight rippled through the sheet of falling water, he thought that he could see a silver cat. She was nothing more than the faintest sliver of light, but her voice sounded clearly in his head, filled with grief. “Oh, Feathertail!”
There was a gasp from Crowpaw and Stormfur snatched his gaze back to see that his sister’s eyes were open. Trembling, he spoke her name. She shifted her head and blinked.
“You’ll have to go home without me, brother,” she murmured. “Save the Clan!”
Her eyes focused on Crowpaw, and Stormfur saw in them a lifetime of love for the difficult young apprentice, enough to sweep their Clans’ rivalry away forever. “Think you have nine lives, do you?” she whispered. “I saved you once . . . Don’t make me save you again.”
“Feathertail . . . Feathertail, no!” Crowpaw could hardly get the words out. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” Now her whisper was scarcely audible. “I’ll always be with you, I promise.”
Then her eyes closed, and she did not speak again.
Crowpaw threw his head back and let out a wail. Stormfur crouched beside his sister with his head down, grief freezing his limbs. Around him he heard the voices of his friends rise in sorrow. Squirrelpaw huddled close to Brambleclaw, murmuring, “She can’t be dead—she can’t be!” Brambleclaw bent his head to lick her ear. Beside them Tawnypelt stared at Feathertail with misery in her amber eyes.
The Tribe cats started whispering to one another. Some -where deeper in the cave a yowl o
f jubilation broke out. “Sharptooth is dead! We are free!”
Stormfur flinched. The price had been too high. He turned his head towards the mouth of the cave, where the faint outline of the silver cat still stood in the moonlight.
Silverstream’s voice came to him through the roar of the water. “My dear son, try not to grieve too long. Feathertail will hunt with StarClan now. I will take care of her.”
“We took care of her,” Stormfur replied bitterly, and then he realised that he was lying. They had failed. If they hadn’t, she would not be lying there, dead, her fur glowing silver in the moonlight.
“She came,” whispered Brook. “The silver cat came.”
“No,” Stormfur growled. “I brought her.”
Crowpaw turned his head, a terrible blank look in his eyes. “It’s my fault.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “If I’d refused to come back to the cave, she would have stayed with me.”
“No . . .” Stormfur murmured, reaching out one paw, but Crowpaw bowed his head.
A gentle voice said his name. Brook had drawn close to him, with Stoneteller behind her. Shyly she touched her nose to Stormfur’s muzzle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“The Tribe of Endless Hunting spoke truly,” Stoneteller meowed. “A silver cat has saved us all.”
But it wasn’t me, thought Stormfur. I wish it had been.
He turned away from where Crowpaw lay beside Feather -tail, his nose pushed into her fur, and looked at the sheet of falling water. Just for a heartbeat, he thought that he saw two silver cats there shimmering in the half-light, side by side, watching over the shattered remnants of the questing Clan cats.
He blinked, and they were gone.
CHAPTER 24
“No! Help them!” A wail of sorrow and fear broke from Leafpaw. She opened her eyes with a jump and saw that she was in her nest outside Cinderpelt’s den. The morning sunlight was pale and cold. The rumble of monsters from her nightmare had reached the camp in the waking world, too, and their stench hung in the air.