Tigerclaw's Fury
“Is Rowanpaw hurt?” mewed a worried voice behind him. Tigerclaw turned to see Runningnose emerging from a clump of bracken, his nose moist as usual, and his eyes cloudy with concern.
“He’s fine,” Tigerclaw meowed. “He’ll move quicker next time, that’s all.”
Runningnose nodded. “I trust you to train these apprentices to fight in any battle, Tigerclaw,” he murmured. “No cat could doubt your loyalty to our Clan.”
Not for a moment, Tigerclaw thought. When he had returned from watching ThunderClan burn, he had let the ShadowClan cats believe that his shocked look was due to his fear that the flames would cross the Thunderpath. Tigerclaw had insisted on patrolling that border alone all day, watching long hollow snakes spurt water onto the burning trees while Twolegs scurried about, yelping. Even after three sunrises, the woods still smelled of smoke, and blackened, charred trunks could be seen deep in ThunderClan territory. Tigerclaw wondered if Bluestar had brought her cats back to the ravine yet. All of the dens would need rebuilding, and prey would be scarce, driven off or killed by the flames.
“I wondered if I could have a word?” Runningnose mewed beside him, jerking him out of his thoughts.
“Of course.” Tigerclaw checked that Oakpaw and Rowanpaw weren’t actually killing each other, then led the medicine cat away from the training area into a circle of hawthorns. “Is something wrong?”
Runningnose blinked. “The full moon is coming. How can ShadowClan go to the Gathering when we have no leader, no deputy?” He scraped at the ground. “But if we don’t go, every other Clan will know that something is wrong. Perhaps I should just ask StarClan to send clouds to cover the moon!” He strained to sound lighthearted, but Tigerclaw could smell fear coming from the old cat’s ruffled pelt.
“Has StarClan sent you any omens about who should lead ShadowClan?” he asked, trying to keep his voice mild. Inside, something stirred, a feeling of hunger, the certainty that everything he wanted was drawing closer.
Runningnose shook his head. “Nothing,” he mewed. “But perhaps I’ve been too busy, or too tired, to see the signs. My Clan is on the brink of destruction, and it could be my fault!”
Tigerclaw rested his tail on the old cat’s shoulder. “Look around you,” he urged. “ShadowClan is not on the brink of destruction! Your Clan is full of strong, able warriors. You know in your heart which one will make the best leader.” He stepped away from Runningnose, studied him carefully. “You alone know the signs that StarClan might send. Your ancestors trust you enough to be their voice in ShadowClan. You can help them choose the next leader.”
Runningnose’s head jerked up. “Are you saying that I should fake a sign? I couldn’t do that!”
“Of course not,” Tigerclaw soothed. “But surely any choice that the medicine cat makes is guided by StarClan, whether he knows it or not?”
Runningnose looked troubled. “You mean, StarClan would ensure that I made the same decision as it would?”
Tigerclaw nodded. “Think about it, Runningnose. There are still several days before the Gathering. Keep watch for signs from your ancestors—but also listen to the voice inside your own mind.”
Ha! purred Mapleshade.
Runningnose pushed his way out of the hawthorns, his eyes still troubled. Almost at once the branches on the other side of the little clearing rustled and Jaggedtooth emerged.
“He should choose you, if he has any sense,” the ginger tom meowed. “Why didn’t you tell him that, and help him make the decision?”
Tigerclaw blinked. “I cannot determine the will of StarClan.”
Jaggedtooth’s eyes glittered. “I don’t share your faith in dead cats,” he mewed. “Perhaps that makes things easier?”
Tigerclaw held his gaze and gave him a tiny nod. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Jaggedtooth. I won’t ever forget that.”
Jaggedtooth nodded back. “I know,” he mewed.
The sky above the pines was as dark as the water in the marshes, but the trees glowed silver in the light of a swollen moon.
“Tomorrow is the night of the Gathering,” Tigerclaw heard Fernshade whisper to Rowanberry. “Has Runningnose told you what he’s going to tell the other Clans?”
“I don’t think he’ll need to tell them anything,” Russetfur put in. “It’s going to be pretty obvious that Nightstar has died and we don’t have a leader.”
“Or a deputy,” added Applefur. “The other Clans will laugh us out of Fourtrees.”
“Be patient,” urged a quiet voice. Tangleburr had joined them. “There is still time for StarClan to answer our prayers.”
There was a stir of movement outside the medicine den, and Runningnose appeared, his gray-and-white pelt lit up by the moonlight. He crossed to the rock and hauled himself onto it. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather for a meeting!” he called, his thin voice echoing through the trees.
Tigerclaw unfolded himself from the shadows and joined the others as they sat at the foot of the rock. Runningnose looked no bigger or stronger than a kit, and Tigerclaw marveled at the way his Clanmates gazed at him with such respect, such trust that he would restore their Clan to how it should be.
“Clanmates, I know you are troubled about the Gathering,” Runningnose began. “I share your fears, but be strong! Have faith in our warrior ancestors to send us a new leader soon!”
There was a murmur from the watching cats, and Deerfoot stood up. “Soon isn’t now!” he hissed. “The Gathering is tomorrow! Does StarClan want us to look weak and leaderless in front of the other Clans?”
“Has StarClan given up on us?” wailed Rowanpaw. He was hushed by Stumpytail, who clouted him gently with one paw.
“Of course they haven’t given up on us,” Runningnose mewed, but his words were drowned by his Clanmates’ increasingly noisy protests.
“We’ll be pounced on like rats as soon as the Clans hear about Nightstar’s death!” yowled Ratscar.
“How can we survive without a leader?” snarled Tallpoppy. “No other Clan has ever turned up at a Gathering without one!”
Runningnose hung his head and said nothing. Tigerclaw could smell the misery coming from him. Don’t give up now, he urged. There is still something you can do.
Suddenly the medicine cat tensed. His ears pricked, and his gaze fixed on something at the foot of the rock. There was a tiny, pale glint among the grass, dappled in the moonlight. Runningnose jumped down and put his muzzle close to it. Then his head shot up in astonishment.
“It’s a claw!” he gasped. “Here, at the bottom of the rock. Has any cat lost a claw today?”
Warriors and apprentices shook their heads, and puzzled murmurs spread through the Clan.
Runningnose was studying the claw again. He reached out carefully and touched it with his paw, shifting it so that the other cats could see it. “Look,” he whispered. “The moon has cast shadows on it. Not shadows, stripes.” He looked up and stared at Tigerclaw. “Stripes like a tiger’s pelt.”
“It’s a sign!” gasped Dawncloud. “It must be!”
“StarClan has chosen our new leader!” called Blackfoot.
“Tigerclaw!” breathed Runningnose, and as one the cats of ShadowClan turned to gaze at Tigerclaw. “StarClan has spoken,” the medicine cat mewed. “And we must listen.”
Tigerclaw felt the breath catch in his chest. After all this time, the ancestors had chosen him! He had served them for so long, tried to challenge the weak leadership in ThunderClan, been driven out and forced to prove his loyalty to a new Clan. And now at last StarClan was rewarding him with a leadership of his own. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Tigerclaw closed his eyes and sensed the ranks of shadowed cats swell around him. Like a dark wave they surged through the forest, carrying him along on legs that seemed weightless. He felt a yowl of joy rise inside him as he raced into battle with his Clanmates. “Follow my lead!” he called, and countless warriors fell in behind him, matching their stride to his. Ahead, their en
emy quivered with fear. . . .
“Tigerclaw?” Blackfoot mewed quietly. “Runningnose wants to speak with you.”
Tigerclaw blinked open his eyes. The medicine cat was standing in front of him, close enough for Tigerclaw to smell his rancid breath.
Runningnose bowed low. “Will you do us the honor of leading us, Tigerclaw? StarClan has spoken, and it has chosen you.”
We did it! screeched Mapleshade inside his head. Didn’t I promise you this would happen?
“And we choose you, too!” yowled Boulder over the heads of his Clanmates. “You have led us out of the darkness after Nightstar’s death, and shown us how to be strong again!”
Tigerclaw dipped his head. “I am stunned by the decision of our ancestors,” he meowed. “I came late to ShadowClan, though I hope no cat would question my loyalty to each one of you. I never looked for this. If you’re sure, and if StarClan has spoken, then I can only say yes.”
“Hail the new ShadowClan leader!” called Runningnose, and the night air was split with screeches of joy and relief.
There was a faint rustle in the brambles behind Tigerclaw. He turned and saw a pair of amber eyes gleaming. Jaggedtooth limped forward, bleeding from one toe where the claw had been ripped out. Tigerclaw glanced down at the injury. “You took a big risk that it would work,” he murmured.
Jaggedtooth lashed his tail. “It paid off,” he growled. “You can thank me later.”
Tigerclaw turned and padded to the center of the clearing. The other cats fell silent as he sprang onto the rock. Tigerclaw settled his paws on the cold, smooth stone and looked down at his Clanmates: Nightwhisper and Jaggedtooth, former strays who would be loyal to him until their last breath; Runningnose and Littlecloud, his medicine cats, watching for signs that StarClan sent to their leader; strong warriors, healthy queens, and apprentices desperate to learn how to fight as bravely as he did. He caught Blackfoot’s eye; he would make him deputy before the moon rose above the treetops. Not Jaggedtooth, who needed to understand that Tigerclaw owed him nothing.
Tigerclaw braced his shoulders. He should prepare for the Gathering, when Bluestar would be forced to face him as her equal, at the head of a Clan that could match hers any day.
But that was tomorrow. For now, Tigerclaw was content to listen to his Clanmates calling his new name.
Tigerstar! Tigerstar!
Leafpool always knew medicine cats weren’t meant for love . . . until she fell for the WindClan warrior Crowfeather. Now she’s determined to keep their kits a secret. But to fool all of ThunderClan, she’ll need help—from her sister, Squirrelflight, and perhaps even from StarClan.
CHAPTER ONE
“Keep still, Birchpaw! If you don’t stop wriggling, I’ll have Dustpelt sit on you!” Leafpool retrieved the fallen moss with a hiss and held it over the apprentice’s eye once more.
“It stings!” Birchpaw protested.
“What, worse than a badger’s claws?” Leafpool meowed skeptically. She squeezed the moss between her pads and a bead of green juice dropped into the centre of Birchpaw’s half-closed eye. Birchpaw winced but Leafpool quickly placed her paw on top of his eye, keeping it closed while the juice treated the infection.
Memories of the badger attack flooded back to her: the sight of her Clanmates battling for their lives while she and Crowfeather stood, horrorstruck, at the entrance to the hollow; the sound of small furred bodies thudding into the ground, tossed by gigantic black-and-white paws; the snarls and snapping jaws of the badgers rumbling beneath the shrieks of the cats. Birchpaw had been lucky to escape with nothing more serious than a clawed eye. Sootfur had been killed, and so had Cinderpelt the medicine cat, desperately protecting Sorreltail as she gave birth to her kits. Leafpool felt a fresh wave of grief, sharp as ever, when she thought of her mentor dying without her. Cinderpelt must have been terrified for the future of ThunderClan without a medicine cat, yet she still refused to leave Sorreltail’s side.
I came back, Cinderpelt, and I stayed, Leafpool whispered fiercely, hoping that her mentor could hear her in StarClan.
“Talking to yourself, eh?” Brackenfur mewed, appearing in the entrance to the den.
Leafpool shook the memories clear from her mind. “Just remembering something important,” she replied. “Is everything okay, Brackenfur?”
“Er, can I go now?” Birchpaw chirped, looking up at her with his injured eye closed and weeping with juice.
Leafpool nodded. “Of course, but you’re still not allowed out of the hollow! I don’t want any brambles poking you in that eye before it’s fully healed.”
Birchpaw trotted out, muttering under his breath. Brackenfur flicked the apprentice with his tail tip as he passed. “Some cats need to remember how lucky they were to survive that battle,” he grunted.
Leafpool bowed her head. “And those who fell will not be forgotten.”
Brackenfur ducked to enter the den. Like most of Leafpool’s Clanmates, he glanced nervously up at the roof as if he was wondering how the weight of the cliffs above them was supported. “Sorreltail sent me,” he meowed. “Cinderkit’s picked up a couple of fleas and she wondered if you had anything that might soothe the bites.”
Leafpool pictured the tiny gray she-cat scratching at her fluffy pelt. “I’m sure I can help,” she purred. “Tell Sorreltail I’ll bring something over before sunhigh.”
Brackenfur narrowed his eyes. “There’s no rush. You look tired, Leafpool. Is there anything I can do?”
Leafpool shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m always busy after a battle, and a nursery full of kits doesn’t help!” She paused. “Not that I don’t rejoice at every new kit born to ThunderClan,” she added. “They are all precious.”
Brackenfur’s gaze softened. “They are indeed.” He padded out of the den and Leafpool followed him as far as the entrance, where she stood in a shaft of watery sunlight. On the opposite side of the clearing, her sister, Squirrelflight, was sharing a mouse with Brambleclaw, her dark ginger body curled into his. Leafpool felt a twist of concern in her belly. It looked like Squirrelflight had finally made her choice between their Clanmate Ashfur and the broad-shouldered dark tabby. Leafpool wouldn’t miss the tension between the warriors while Squirrelflight had been making up her mind, but she wished with all her heart that her sister had chosen differently. How could Leafpool tell her that she had dreamed of the Dark Forest and seen Tigerstar mentoring Brambleclaw in secret, training his son in the most terrible ways to kill and maim an enemy? However often Leafpool told herself that Brambleclaw was a loyal ThunderClan warrior, no cat could deny that his father was one of the most dangerous cats ever to live in the Clans.
And yet there had been the vision of stars over the lake, when Leafpool had been walking alone one sunset. Two starry shapes, unmistakeably Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw, padding side by side across the sky, tails entwined. What could that mean except that these two warriors were destined to be together? Reluctantly, Leafpool had told her sister what she had seen; it was not the duty of a medicine cat to choose which omens and visions to keep secret. Leafpool had to accept that this had helped Squirrelflight decide between Brambleclaw and Ashfur. And when she treated Brambleclaw for injuries that could only have come from fighting in his dreams with his Dark Forest father, she said nothing to her sister. She had to hope that Brambleclaw would make his own decision to leave his connection with Tigerstar behind, and learn only from what his living Clanmates could teach him.
Cinderkit’s flea bites were easily treated with some soothing marigold leaves rubbed into her cobweb-soft fur. The tiny cat squirmed so much that Leafpool suspected her littermates would receive a good dose as well. Sorreltail blinked gratefully at her, happily worn out by nursing and keeping her little family in order. Leafpool breathed in the sweet, milky scent of the nursery and let it comfort her for a moment. She held on to the memory of it as she settled into her nest that night. The den still seemed empty without Cinderpelt sleeping beside her, the shadows cold and thick agai
nst the rough stone walls. Leafpool tucked her nose under her tail and took a deep breath. Tonight she wanted to walk in the Dark Forest again. She had to know if Brambleclaw was still being mentored by his father.
She woke in a dense green forest, dimly lit by an unseen moon and stirred by a whispering breeze. She felt the familiar shudder of horror at the thought of dead cats unwanted by StarClan hiding in the bushes, watching her with angry yellow eyes. But she forced herself to walk along the narrow path that curved between the mossy trunks, convinced she could hear her heartbeat echoing among the trees.
Suddenly Leafpool stopped, feeling her heart beat faster. Three cats stood a little way ahead with their backs to her. She recognized two of them at once—but these weren’t Dark Forest warriors. Their fur glittered with starlight, and silver beams pooled around their paws as if they were standing in water. One of them turned to face Leafpool, and she felt her heart lift with joy. Bluestar!
“Come out, Leafpool,” she meowed. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Leafpool walked forward until she could smell the scent of wind and stars on the old leader’s pelt.
“You took your time,” grunted Yellowfang.
Leafpool didn’t know the third cat, a broad-shouldered golden tabby. He dipped his head to her. “Greetings, Leafpool. My name is Lionheart. I was with Bluestar when your father, Firestar, first came to the forest.”
“I’m honored to meet you,” Leafpool meowed. “But where am I? Why have you brought me here?” She hadn’t dreamed of this place before, yet it couldn’t be the Dark Forest, not if StarClan cats were here.
“Come,” Bluestar ordered, turning to follow the path deeper into the forest.
It led to a moonlit clearing, and the trees that had seemed so sinister before now looked graceful and welcoming, filled with the scents of prey. In the clear sky, three tiny stars gleamed more brightly than the others, throbbing with silver light.