Tigerclaw let his hackles rise. “There is always a reason to attack another Clan! More territory, better prey, the chance to prove how strong you are!”
“But we’re not strong,” Ratscar protested. “And we don’t want to take over ThunderClan’s territory or hunt their prey.”
In the distance, they heard cats approaching fast, crashing through undergrowth, not caring how much prey they scared away. Clawface stepped forward. “Tigerclaw, we came here to hunt, not to fight. This is not a battle we can win. Not yet.”
Russetfur shifted her paws. “We need to get out of here!”
Tigerclaw forced the fur along his spine to lie flat. Make them think it’s your decision to retreat, not theirs, warned the voice in his head. Otherwise this could be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. “Fine. This warrior”—he kicked Runningwind’s body and it shuddered like a leaf in the wind—“will be a clear enough message that ShadowClan is growing powerful again.” He flicked his tail in the moment before Clawface, Russetfur, and Ratscar plunged into the elder bush and raced back to the Thunderpath. I gave you the signal to retreat! Remember that!
Whitethroat stayed where he was, his muzzle buried in the dead warrior’s still-warm fur. “Are you coming?” Tigerclaw snarled. Whitethroat didn’t move. “Waiting for your ThunderClan friends to arrive, are you?” Tigerclaw spat. “I knew I couldn’t trust you. Know this, Whitethroat. You won’t be welcome in ShadowClan again, I promise.”
“It’s this way!” Mousefur screeched from the other side of a clump of bracken. “Hurry!”
Tigerclaw lifted his head and sniffed. Beneath the acrid tang of the Thunderpath, he detected Fireheart and Whitestorm, closing in on him fast. Much as he longed to stay and watch them grieve for Runningwind, he knew he couldn’t take them all on. He turned and slipped into the elder bush just as Fireheart pounded into the clearing beneath the ash trees.
“He’s dead!” Whitethroat wailed.
Tigerclaw burst out from the bush and tore along the trail through the bracken. Brittle fronds whipped his pelt and stung his eyes. He stopped, flanks heaving, on the edge of the Thunderpath. Suddenly, to Tigerclaw’s astonishment, Whitethroat appeared a little way off, struggling through the brambles. He was wide-eyed and panting, and blood smeared his cheek.
Is he leading an attack on ShadowClan? Tigerclaw wondered, bracing himself to run and warn the others. Traitor!
Fireheart scrambled out behind Whitethroat, and the black-and-white warrior whipped his head around to stare at the ginger cat.
Bring whoever you want! I will kill them all! Tigerclaw vowed.
Without stopping to speak to Fireheart, Whitethroat flung himself onto the Thunderpath. Tigerclaw took a step back as a monster blasted past, flinging grit and foul smoke into his face. When the air stopped whirling, he saw Fireheart staring in horror at a black-and-white shape that lay in the middle of the Thunderpath. The monster hit Whitethroat! Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes. Will ThunderClan still attack?
On the unforgiving black stone, Whitethroat stirred. Fireheart ran over to him. He crouched down and seemed to be speaking to Whitethroat, but his words were drowned by another monster roaring past. By the time Tigerclaw could see Fireheart again, he was standing up. Whitethroat was sprawled at his paws, eyes glazed and open, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. Tigerclaw felt his fur prick. Fireheart was staring straight at him.
“Is chasing puny cats to their deaths the best you can do to defend your territory?” Tigerclaw yowled.
In answer, Fireheart hurtled toward him, narrowly missing two monsters, and launched himself at Tigerclaw. Taken by surprise, Tigerclaw staggered backward, feeling the scents of ThunderClan rise up around him from the thick grass. Fireheart’s paws pummeled his ribs, but Tigerclaw wrenched himself free and reared up, flinging the ginger cat onto the ground. Tigerclaw let his full weight crash down on him, sinking his claws into the fur around Fireheart’s throat. Fury burned inside him.
“Are you listening, kittypet?” he hissed. “I will kill you, and all your warriors, one by one.”
Suddenly there was a roar of thundering paws, and a voice meowed in Tigerclaw’s ear, “Did you think we would let you fight alone?”
He turned and looked into Blackfoot’s hungry gaze. “No, my friend,” mewed Tigerclaw. “I knew you would come.”
Blackfoot had brought nearly every cat that wasn’t sick with him—including Russetfur and Ratscar, Tigerclaw noticed. As the ShadowClan cats hurtled across the Thunderpath, Mousefur and Whitestorm burst out of the undergrowth. They fought bravely, but the ThunderClan warriors were sorely outnumbered. Even though Fireheart had managed to wriggle free from Tigerclaw, this wasn’t a battle that ShadowClan would lose.
Mowgli rushed forward and sliced at Fireheart’s hind legs with his claws. Fireheart stumbled and Tigerclaw reared over him, bracing himself to deliver the deathblow. Mowgli’s eyes glittered in triumph. There was a searing pain in Tigerclaw’s belly and he looked down, baffled. A broad gray tabby warrior had lunged into Tigerclaw’s exposed stomach, tearing at the newly healed wound. Graystripe! What is he doing here? He lives in RiverClan!
Tigerclaw fell onto his paws and looked around. His cats were fighting more than the three ThunderClan warriors now. It looked like a whole RiverClan patrol had come to Fireheart’s rescue. Always relying on others for help! Tigerclaw spat. He braced himself as Fireheart and Graystripe tackled him side by side. Tigerclaw was forced back toward the Thunderpath, then his paw got tangled up in a bramble and he fell heavily onto the ground. He looked around for Mowgli or Blackfoot, but they were wrestling with fish-scented cats. Clawface and Russetfur had retreated to the edge of the Thunderpath, flanks heaving and covered in scratches.
Fireheart glanced up to look at the ShadowClan warriors who were leaving, and Tigerclaw felt the ginger cat’s weight shift on his shoulders. He wrenched himself free and raced for the Thunderpath. He heard the other ShadowClan cats fall in behind him, but he didn’t slow down until they were all deep inside the pine trees. He limped to a halt beside a patch of brambles, his belly burning with pain and his muzzle stinging from scratches. Around him, the other cats slumped onto the ground and began licking their wounds.
A thin voice whined in Tigerclaw’s ear: You ran! You should have stayed and fought! Never start a battle that you cannot finish, you fool.
Tigerclaw lifted his head. “We must let the rest of ShadowClan know that we were attacked without provocation,” he ordered. He caught Clawface’s eye and waited for the brown tom to nod. “Tragically, Whitethroat gave his life trying to save his Clanmates from ThunderClan’s savagery. He died at Fireheart’s paws, trying to reach the safety of his own territory.”
Flintfang snarled, “No warrior kills one of my Clanmates without answering to me. Let me go back to ThunderClan now and avenge Whitethroat’s death!”
Tigerclaw let his tail rest on Flintfang’s shoulder. “Have patience, my friend. Those RiverClan cats might be waiting for us still. Wait until the ThunderClan warriors have to defend themselves alone, and then we will destroy them without losing a single drop of our own blood.”
“Whitethroat will not die in vain!” cried Russetfur, and her Clanmates joined in with a wail of grief.
“ThunderClan got lucky today, that’s all,” Tigerclaw meowed when they fell silent. “This is not a battle that has been lost. Merely one that has been put off for a while.” He met Blackfoot’s gaze. The white tom seemed to understand what Tigerclaw was saying. What happened today would be reported to the rest of ShadowClan as a moment of tragedy for Whitethroat and a cause for revenge on ThunderClan when they had their chance. Fireheart’s days of leading his band of kittypet-lovers would soon be over.
CHAPTER 7
Gray, damp ferns brushed against Tigerclaw’s pelt as he walked through the forest. Above him, the sky was pitch-black, without the faintest glimmer of moon or stars. Yet somehow there was just enough light for him to make out the trunks of trees looming to
ward him and the trace of a path over the slimy ground. The air smelled rotten, like fungus or forgotten fresh-kill. The leaves above Tigerclaw whispered even though there was no wind, and a greasy mist seemed to ooze up from the soil and cling to the fur on his belly. Where am I? Tigerclaw wondered. Is this StarClan?
“No, this is the Dark Forest,” came a meow from behind him.
Tigerclaw froze. He knew that voice! It was the one that talked to him inside his head. Pelt standing on end, he slowly turned around.
A broad-faced she-cat stood among the ferns, her tortoiseshell-and-white fur patched and scarred from long-past battles. Her amber eyes gleamed like tiny gold moons; they seemed much brighter than the rest of the she-cat, and Tigerclaw was uncomfortably aware that he could see the leaves and ground on the other side of her.
“Welcome to the Place of No Stars, Tigerclaw,” the she-cat meowed.
“This isn’t StarClan, then?”
“Tchah!” The old cat spat. “Why would you want to go to StarClan? That place is full of weak-willed cowards who clung to the warrior code like ants to a leaf in a puddle. You will find much better company in the cats here, Tigerclaw.”
Tigerclaw shifted his paws. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
The she-cat purred; it sounded like two dead branches sliding together. “I have been watching you for a long time.” She padded forward and stretched out her head to sniff his flank. Tigerclaw tried not to flinch at the stench that came from her breath. “ShadowClan needs a fearless and powerful leader,” the old cat murmured. “You know you can give them everything they want, Tigerclaw. And after that . . . we will be waiting.”
She turned and started to walk away. “Stop!” cried Tigerclaw. “What do you mean, you’ll be waiting? I don’t even know who you are!”
The she-cat paused and looked back at him. “My name is Mapleshade,” she meowed. “I have walked beside you from the day you were born, guiding your paw steps, laying out your destiny before you. For now, you don’t need to know anything else. Much, much more lies ahead of us, Tigerclaw. Be patient, and you will find out everything.”
“Wait!” Tigerclaw tried to run after her, but the ferns tangled around his legs, and Mapleshade vanished into the undergrowth. With a start, he woke up, his fur still damp and carrying the scent of fungus and dying things.
“Ewww!” coughed Stumpytail, scrambling to the other side of the nest. “Did you roll in something bad yesterday?”
Tigerclaw stalked out of the den, ducking under the fallen trunk. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he hissed. “Come on, we need to get to the camp.”
Blackfoot bounded up beside him. “Has something happened? Did you have a dream from StarClan?”
Tigerclaw shook his head impatiently. “We just need to be there.”
He raced through the trees with Mapleshade’s words echoing in his ears: ShadowClan needs a fearless and powerful leader. You can give them everything they want. He heard the other cats panting and stumbling behind him, but he didn’t slow down until he reached the entrance to the camp. At once he heard a low, keening sound, many voices sharing one terrible note of grief.
Runningnose was standing in the middle of the clearing surrounded by cats huddled in misery. His tail dragged in the dirt, and he looked even older than he had the day before. He came to meet Tigerclaw and ushered him to the edge of the camp. “Nightstar died last night,” he murmured.
Tigerclaw lowered his head. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he mewed. “I hope he walks with StarClan now.”
Runningnose’s tail twitched. “Wherever Nightstar is, I hope he is at peace. The most important thing to do now is to keep the rest of my Clan safe.” He stared at Tigerclaw, his eyes huge and haunted. “My Clanmates are terrified of being leaderless. There is no deputy to take over from Nightstar, and StarClan has sent us no sign of what should happen next. How can I blame these cats if they feel that their ancestors have abandoned them?” His voice rose in a wail of horror. “What if we never recover from what Brokenstar did to us? The wounds run so deep, and nothing I can do will heal them.”
Tigerclaw let his tail rest on the old cat’s shoulder. “You must be strong,” he urged. “Without a leader, your Clanmates will look to you. StarClan hasn’t given up on ShadowClan; you mustn’t let yourself think that.” He hoped Runningnose took his quivering muscles as a sign of grief rather than of the excitement that was building inside him. This is your moment! Mapleshade hissed. Tread carefully. You are stepping onto the thinnest ice, and you must not fall through.
Tigerclaw squared his shoulders, as if he had reached a decision. “Runningnose, you must lead your Clan until StarClan makes its wishes known. And until that time, my cats and I will do everything we can to help you. I know your Clanmates have been doubly wounded, by Brokenstar and by the sickness from the rats. If you let me, I will help you heal them.”
Runningnose sniffed. “Thank you, Tigerclaw,” he mewed. “I knew I could rely on you.” He limped across the clearing to the lichen-covered rock and hauled himself onto it. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the rock!”
The earthen space began to fill with somber-eyed cats, swirling together like leaves in a stream. Tigerclaw saw Stumpytail go to sit beside Dawncloud, while Clawface laid the tip of his tail on Rowanberry’s back to guide her to an empty place.
“What did you say to Runningnose?” whispered Snag in Tigerclaw’s ear.
“That he and his Clanmates will have our utmost support until StarClan reveals their new leader.”
There was a flicker of surprise in Snag’s eyes. “That old cat, and this weak Clan, could need a great deal of support,” he commented.
Tigerclaw nodded. “Indeed. And we will be repaid for it, don’t worry.”
“Good,” mewed Snag.
“Clanmates!” Runningnose began from on top of the rock. “Shortly the elders will bring Nightstar’s body out from his den and we can begin our vigil. As we have no deputy to take his place, I will lead you until StarClan makes its wishes known. Even as we mourn Nightstar, life must continue. The worst of the sickness has passed, and we must make ourselves strong once more. Hunting and border patrols will be sent out as normal, and battle training will begin again.”
He was interrupted by a tumult of voices.
“We have only just gotten over the sickness! We need more time to recover!”
“How can we hunt, patrol the borders, and train our apprentices?”
“We want to serve our Clan, Runningnose, but you’re asking too much!”
Runningnose’s eyes clouded with confusion, and he took a pace back from the edge of the rock.
Tigerclaw raised his head. “With your permission, cats of ShadowClan, I can help you. My cats and I have kept your fresh-kill pile well stocked for the past moon. Now you are strong enough to hunt for yourselves, so why not let us help with your border patrols, and take over your battle training?” He lowered his eyes and scraped at the ground with one forepaw. “If you wish, that is.” Don’t overdo the humility, Tigerclaw, warned Mapleshade. It’s not terribly convincing.
Runningnose stepped forward again, blinking in gratitude. “Tigerclaw, we will take all the help we can get,” he meowed.
“Wait,” called Deerfoot. “ShadowClan has always survived on its own. Why should we let outsiders do everything for us now?”
Tigerclaw met Deerfoot’s gaze. “That is not what I am proposing,” he mewed. “We merely want to work alongside you, give you time to recover your full strength now that the danger of the sickness has gone.” He looked around. “Cats of ShadowClan, never forget that you are surrounded by enemies who will attack the moment they think you have any trace of weakness. You were lucky to be left alone while the sickness was here. Can you keep it a secret forever? It only takes one sharp-eyed cat at a Gathering, one rumor across the border, for other Clans to put your strength to the test. ShadowClan has always been the most feared Clan in the forest. I promise
I will not let that change!”
The pine trees shivered as the clearing erupted in yowls of triumph.
“He’s right! We can’t show weakness to the other Clans!”
“I’ll train with you, Tigerclaw! Teach me everything you know!”
“ShadowClan will be feared once more!”
Tigerclaw closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the cheers. Remember this moment, Mapleshade urged. This is what power feels like.
CHAPTER 8
Runningnose appeared at his side. “Please organize the battle training as you see fit.” He gave a slightly embarrassed purr. “Not my area of expertise at all!”
“No problem,” Tigerclaw meowed. He flicked his tail. “Blackfoot, Snag, Mowgli? I want each of you to take a warrior and an apprentice. Go through the basic attack and defense moves, then we’ll join up for a mock battle later on. Okay?”
His companions nodded. Stumpytail pricked his ears. “What about me?”
“You, Clawface, and Tangleburr can lead hunting patrols,” Tigerclaw ordered.
There was a faint cough behind him. “We can arrange our own hunting patrols, Tigerclaw,” Deerfoot meowed. His voice was mild but his eyes gleamed with an unspoken challenge.
Tigerclaw bowed his head. “Of course, Deerfoot. I only meant that my cats can help you with restocking the fresh-kill pile.”
Deerfoot blinked. Tigerclaw sensed that the warrior was going to question him at every turn, and he felt his claws slide out to grip the soil. Be patient, whispered Mapleshade. There will be time to deal with him later. Turning away, Tigerclaw nodded to Flintfang and Tallpoppy. “You two come with me.”
Tallpoppy twitched her ears. “We don’t need battle training,” she pointed out. “We have been warriors longer than you, Tigerclaw!” She sounded amused, as if she was speaking to an impudent kit.
Tigerclaw let the fur rise along his spine. “Runningnose said that I was in charge of battle training,” he meowed quietly. “I can’t do that unless I know the abilities of every warrior in the Clan.”