“Fish!” Pinestar exclaimed. “Can you catch them?”
Shanty shook her head. “I tried once, but I fell in. My housefolk had to rescue me.”
Pinestar reached out with one paw and dabbed at the water. With a flash of gold, the fish vanished among some thick green plants. “You need to make sure RiverClan doesn’t find these,” Pinestar joked.
But Shanty was already trotting away toward the side of the Twoleg den. Pinestar ran after her, his wet paw cool against the grass. They plunged into a welcome stretch of shade, then out into the sun again behind the den. The grass here stretched farther, still short and soft and bright, bright green. A clump of silver birch trees stood at the far end, casting dappled shade onto a heap of logs with ferns growing over them. Pinestar padded over and sniffed at the cool fronds.
Behind him, Shanty mewed, “I don’t like it over here. It’s too cold.”
Pinestar arched his back and brushed against one of the drooping ferns. “I think it’s peaceful,” he murmured. He could hear a faint monster grumbling far away, and two sparrows quarreling on the other side of the fence that surrounded Shanty’s territory. But the ferns blotted out most of the sound, and the birch leaves rustled in the breeze, reminding Pinestar of the forest.
There was a noise close by and Pinestar jumped. An opening had appeared in the side of the den and a Twoleg was coming out. Pinestar shrank back against the logs. Had it spotted him? Shanty ran across the grass and stretched up to rub her head against the Twoleg’s front paw. Pinestar forced his pelt to lie flat. This must be one of her housefolk. From the tone of the Twoleg’s voice, he was pretty sure it was a female. She had brown skin and black fur on her head, and although her white teeth were bared, she was making soothing sounds.
Shanty called to Pinestar, “Come on over. I think she’ll like you.”
Pinestar took two steps toward the Twoleg, then stopped. He could feel his heart pounding, and his mouth felt dry. The Twoleg stopped petting Shanty and crouched down on its haunches, staring at Pinestar. Now he could see that her eyes were a shade darker than her skin, and her long straight fur was as glossy as a RiverClan pelt. She reached her front paw toward Pinestar and made a noise a bit like a dove, low and cooing.
Pinestar took another step. He kept his ears pricked and his tail low. He was a ThunderClan warrior; he didn’t want to frighten the Twoleg into running away. Which one of us is the most scared? he wondered.
Shanty bounced on her paws. “Let her stroke you!” she mewed. “She won’t hurt you, I promise!”
Suddenly the Twoleg was right in front of him and Pinestar froze. He felt a warm, naked paw rest on his head. With a hiss, he ducked away. Too close!
Shanty twitched her tail. “I thought warriors were braver than that!”
The Twoleg leaned toward him again, making more cooing sounds. Pinestar forced himself to stay still. The Twoleg put her paw lightly on his head and brushed it along his fur, all the way to his tail. Pinestar blinked. It felt odd, but not unpleasant, like a very large, dry tongue licking him. The Twoleg stroked him again, then tickled him under his chin. Pinestar stepped away. That wasn’t so pleasant, and made him feel too vulnerable.
Shanty came over and stood beside him, her flank warm and fluffy against his pelt. “You’re being really brave,” she purred, with a hint of teasing in her voice. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”
The Twoleg stood up suddenly and Pinestar leaped backward. There was a low, gruff sound and another Twoleg appeared in the entrance to the den. This one was taller, with darker skin and a more powerful scent. Pinestar guessed it was a male. The female Twoleg pointed at Pinestar and yowled something. Pinestar flattened his ears. The territory was starting to feel small and crowded.
Shanty nudged him. “It’s okay. That’s my other housefolk. He can be a bit loud but he’s safe, I promise.”
Pinestar backed toward the ferns. “I think I’ve made enough new friends today,” he mewed, trying to sound light-hearted.
Shanty nodded. “I’m impressed.” Pinestar glanced at her, but she sounded sincere. “I wouldn’t go into the forest and hang out with the wild cats,” she went on.
“You’d be safe if you were with me,” Pinestar mewed, though in his mind he couldn’t begin to imagine a time when he would introduce Shanty to his Clanmates. “You can trust my warriors.”
“And you can trust my housefolk,” Shanty replied. They had reached the ferns and were sitting at the foot of a sun-warmed log, their pelts lightly dappled with shade. “All my life, they have treated me kindly, fed me, sheltered me, given me space to play in.”
“Did your mother live with them?” Pinestar asked.
“No. I was born somewhere else, but I can’t really remember anything about it. I know I had littermates, but I don’t know where they are now.”
Pinestar was shocked. “Aren’t you worried about them?”
“Why should I be?” Shanty shrugged. “If they have found housefolk like mine, then I know they are safe and happy.”
“But . . . but aren’t you bored?” Pinestar blurted out. All the questions he had wanted to ask Jake came tumbling out. “What do you do all day? You don’t have to patrol your territory, or catch your food, or train any apprentices, or practice for battle. . . .”
Shanty stared at him, her amber eyes huge. “Why would I want to live like that? You make it sound as if every day is a struggle to survive.” She gestured around her with her tail. “There is no cat here that I want to fight. I don’t want to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I am not a prisoner in my territory; I can visit my friends, just as they can visit me.” She sniffed. “Some are more welcome than others, but Quince is okay when she hasn’t got a tom hanging around her.”
Pinestar lifted his muzzle. “What do you do to earn this life? Where is your loyalty, your courage, your honor? How do you know if you have lived your life well if you cannot judge it against the warrior code?” His fur prickled, and he heard a note of desperation in his voice. Do I want Shanty to prove to me that my life is worth more than hers?
The brown she-cat blinked. “I have loyalty and honor too. Look around you, Pinestar. What is keeping me here? I could climb that fence and be gone in a heartbeat. But I love my housefolk. I honor them. They feed me and care for me because they value me. They enjoy my company, they want to keep me safe, and they are afraid if I go away for too long.” She stood up and glared at him, as fierce as any warrior. “Isn’t this the same way you feel about your Clanmates, Pinestar? Just because I don’t look the same as my housefolk, don’t speak with the same words or eat the same food, doesn’t mean that we are not a Clan too. They are not my enemies. Not everything is predator or prey!”
She sat down, panting. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I think you hit a nerve.”
Pinestar reached out with his tail and stroked her flank. “I’m the one who should say sorry,” he mewed. “When I became leader of ThunderClan, a cat named Oakstar gave me a life for judgment. I should have learned to use it more wisely by now.”
Shanty looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. Pinestar rested his muzzle on the top of her head. “I judged you too quickly,” he explained. “You and all the kittypets. Forgive me.”
He felt the she-cat’s purr, rumbling through his body like far-off thunder. “You’re all right,” Shanty meowed. “I always heard wild cats were a bit dumb.”
Pinestar grunted. “But our claws are still sharper than yours!” he teased. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight so that he was lying beside Shanty. Patchy sunlight warmed his fur, and the scent of ferns filled his nose as he drifted into sleep.
Pinestar stood beneath Fourtrees, looking around. The hollow was empty and above, the sky was spattered with stars but no full moon. This wasn’t a Gathering, so what had brought him here?
“I did,” mewed a voice. A fawn-and-white she-cat stepped out from behind the Great Rock.
“Doestar!” Pinestar gasped. He trotted to meet his form
er leader, rubbing his head along her cheek.
Doestar stepped back and studied him. “Your time as leader hasn’t been easy,” she commented, nodding to the scars on his muzzle. “I am sorry I could not leave ThunderClan in peace.”
Pinestar twitched the tip of his tail. “None of the battles were your fault. This is a difficult time for all the Clans. If RiverClan would give up its claim to Sunningrocks, everything would be easier.”
“For cats who can swim, a river is no kind of boundary,” Doestar pointed out. “Your battle for those rocks is not over yet.”
“And lose more lives for the sake of warming our pelts on a heap of stones?” Pinestar growled. “I can’t wait.”
The she-cat blinked. “Those are not the words of a warrior. Where is your pride, Pinestar? Your promise to keep the boundaries of our territory safe?”
Pinestar flattened his ears. “I have not forgotten,” he mewed. “I will do everything to defend our Clan, of course.”
Doestar paced around him. “You will have even more reason to protect your Clan soon.” Her amber eyes gleamed in the starlight. “You are going to be a father. Leopardfoot is expecting your kits!”
“What?” Pinestar stared at her. “Are you sure?”
The she-cat nodded. Then her gaze darkened. “But you must be careful, Pinestar. One of your kits, a tom, has a shadow over his destiny.”
“What do you mean?” Pinestar demanded, letting his claws slide out and prick the earth. “What kind of shadow?”
Doestar turned away. “The worst kind,” she murmured. “He will be born with the power to destroy ThunderClan.”
“You can’t possibly know that! One kit, against a whole Clan? Don’t be ridiculous!” His heart was beating faster and his fur stood on end. What threat could one tiny cat offer to a Clan full of warriors?
The StarClan cat faced him again. “Listen to me, Pinestar. No cat knows your son’s destiny yet; only the possibilities he will be born with. It is up to you to teach him honor, loyalty, compassion—everything given to you for your nine lives. This cat will have the power to be a great leader, if you guide his paw steps well.”
Pinestar opened his mouth to ask more questions, but the starlight in Doestar’s fur was dazzling him and he screwed up his eyes against the brightness. Something was digging into his back. Was it the Great Rock?
“Wake up, Pinestar. You’re having a bad dream.”
Shanty was prodding him in the ribs. Pinestar opened his eyes to see her anxious brown face against pale green fern fronds.
“I have to go back to my Clan,” he mewed, sitting up. “I . . . I shouldn’t be here.”
Shanty looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Pinestar scrambled to his paws. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered. His pelt burned with shame and anger. Couldn’t he escape his duties for just one day?
Before he could race off, Shanty pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Come back anytime,” she mewed. “You will always be welcome here, friend.”
Pinestar started running across the grass. The peace he had found with Shanty had been shattered. The needs of his Clan were dragging him back to the forest, back to blood and conflict and the desperate struggle to survive. And now there was a new threat, one he had created himself, which he already felt powerless to stop.
How am I going to protect my Clan from an unborn kit?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pinestar padded through the bracken, ignoring a brittle frond that tickled his ear. He had taken to pushing through the thickest undergrowth on his way to and from Twolegplace, avoiding the tiny paths where he might encounter a border or hunting patrol. A quarter moon ago, Lionpaw had seen him talking to Jake’s housefolk and Pinestar had lied to explain himself, telling the apprentice that he had only pretended to befriend the Twoleg in order to find out more about the kittypets.
Pinestar’s fur prickled. He couldn’t let his Clanmates find out about his friends outside the territory. They would never understand that it was cats like Jake and Shanty who kept him calm and focused, who listened to fears he couldn’t share with his warriors.
Today, Shanty had reassured him that he was doing the right thing by holding back from yet another attack on RiverClan, even though the mangy fish-eaters had set their border marks around Sunningrocks again. Pinestar knew his warriors were unhappy, and were waiting for him to give the command to attack their neighbors. Shanty had agreed that he couldn’t risk injuries or death so close to leaf-fall, when the warriors should be concentrating on hunting and building up their strength for the cold weather. She shrugged off Pinestar’s fear that his Clanmates thought he was too fox-hearted to defend their territory.
“They must know you are only trying to protect them from getting hurt,” she mewed impatiently.
The only thing he hadn’t confided to the kittypets was Doestar’s warning about his unborn kit. That was something Pinestar couldn’t begin to deal with until his son had arrived.
He was sitting beside the fresh-kill pile with Patchpelt when Sunfall’s border patrol returned. To Pinestar’s relief, none of his warriors bore any signs of a skirmish. His fur pricked when he saw Bluefur studying him intently, as if she was trying to detect traces of Twolegplace on him.
Suddenly Featherwhisker appeared from the nursery. The medicine cat’s silver fur was ruffled and his eyes were wide with alarm. “Leopardfoot’s kits are coming!” he announced.
“So early?” Swiftbreeze gasped. “They’re not due for half a moon!”
“Is she okay?” Patchpelt called.
Featherwhisker ignored them. “Pinestar!” he meowed. “Will you stay with her while I fetch supplies?”
Pinestar stared at him in dismay. No! This can’t be happening! I’m not ready! “I think it’s best if I leave it to you and Goosefeather,” he mewed, his pelt burning under the gazes of Bluefur and Swiftbreeze, who were looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head.
“I’ll sit with her!” huffed Swiftbreeze, pushing her way into the nursery.
Pinestar sagged with relief. Leopardfoot would be much better off with her mother to care for her. But his respite was short-lived. Behind him, Goosefeather had started sifting through the fresh-kill pile, scowling and muttering to himself. Pinestar’s heart started to pound. Was he looking for omens to mark the birth of the new kits?
The day dragged on. Goosefeather stopped fiddling with the fresh-kill pile and limped out of the camp. Patrols returned and excitement spread through the Clan about the kits. Featherwhisker sent Bluefur for herbs, and the waiting cats tensed as if braced for bad news. But nothing came from the nursery, only the sound of Leopardfoot groaning and soft murmurs of encouragement from Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze. Pinestar looked impatiently at his gathered warriors, who were acting as if a tree was about to come crashing down on their heads. Kits were born all the time! Why was today any different?
“We must eat,” he told them. “Starving ourselves won’t make these kits come any quicker.”
He caught Bluefur glaring at him and turned away. Too wound up to eat, he stalked past the fresh-kill pile and headed into his den beneath Highrock. He knew his Clanmates were judging him for being cold and uncaring toward the mother of his kits. But nothing would make him share Doestar’s warning. How could he possibly tell them that his own son was going to be the greatest threat the Clan would ever face?
Outside, he heard excited voices. Then Bluefur announced, “Two she-cats and a tom.”
He is here. The cat that will destroy us all.
In the midst of his Clan, which had just swelled by three, Pinestar had never felt more frightened or more alone.
The night was starless and unseen brambles clutched at his paws as Pinestar ran blindly through the forest. He knew he should be with Leopardfoot, with their newborn kits, watching over them as proudly and fiercely as Oakstar had once watched over him. But how could he?
These kits should never have been born!
Even a
s the thought slipped through his mind, Pinestar recoiled in horror. He had stared across the clearing at the nursery as dusk fell, the simple clump of tightly woven brambles changed by shadows into a dark and thorn-pierced trap. His paws had refused to carry him one step closer, as if he had turned to stone where he sat. Gradually the clearing emptied and the camp fell silent as his Clanmates settled down to sleep. Pinestar stood up, stretching out each stiff limb, then headed toward the gorse. Guilt and shame dragged at his pelt. But he would not, could not, enter the nursery.
There was only one place he could find comfort now, far from the Clans, far from the weight of the terrible prophecy about his own son. He leaped over the wooden fence and streaked along the hard stone paths. A couple of kittypets sprang out of his way with angry hisses, but Pinestar ignored them. He raced around the corner of a Twoleg den and skidded to a halt at the edge of the little Thunderpath.
Shanty was sitting on the other side, talking to a fat gray tom. She jumped up when she saw Pinestar, her fur bristling.
“What are you doing here at this time? Is everything all right?”
Beside her, the gray tom slipped into the shadows and disappeared.
“Leopardfoot’s kits have come!” Pinestar called.
He saw Shanty’s eyes widen. “That’s . . . that’s good news, isn’t it?”
“No,” meowed Pinestar. “It is the end of my Clan.” All his sorrow, all his self-loathing, all his fears came crashing down on him, and he sank to the ground with a moan.
Shanty gasped and sprang toward him. At that moment, a pair of glaring white eyes appeared at the end of the Thunderpath. With a roar, the monster launched itself toward the little brown cat. She stopped dead in the middle of the Thunderpath, frozen in horror.
“Shanty!” Pinestar yowled. He threw himself toward her, his paws skidding on the black stone. He was less than a mouse-length from her when the monster struck them both, slamming Pinestar so hard that he flew into the air and tumbled over and over before he crashed to the ground with a thud.
Suddenly his eyes were dazzled by silver light and he felt cats close around him, sniffing his pelt, urging him to lie still, promising that all would be well. Pinestar had been here before. He was losing another life. He let his body sink into the ground, felt the searing pain ebb out of his muscles, and waited for his mind to clear.