Outcast Page 8

  “Well, we’ll just have to do the best we can without him,” Sandstorm mewed.

  Hollypaw thought that Honeypaw must have missed the sarcastic edge to the ginger she-cat’s tone. She just kept on babbling about Berrynose until Hollypaw wanted to wrap her tail around her friend’s muzzle to keep it shut. Exasperated, she ran ahead a little way, trying to get out of range of Honeypaw’s voice.

  Sunhigh was just past. Golden rays warmed Hollypaw’s fur, while her paws padded through cool, lush grass. The trees were thick with birdsong and the air was laden with fresh green scents. She bounded forward until the sound of the patrol had faded behind her. At the top of a rise, she halted. Ahead of her, trees grew closer together, the spaces between them choked by bracken and briar, and for a few heartbeats she wasn’t sure where she was. She was a long way past the entrance to the tunnels, and she couldn’t spot any other familiar landmarks. Then she picked up the faint sound of running water and realized that she stood at the very edge of ThunderClan’s hunting territory, not far from the WindClan border.

  Everything around her was peaceful, but something made Hollypaw’s fur prickle with apprehension. Her paws were tugging her to run back and find the rest of the patrol. You’re not a kit! she scolded herself. This is ThunderClan territory. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

  She would go back, she decided, but she would catch a piece of prey first, just to prove to herself that she wasn’t a coward who ran away from nothing. She raised her head and opened her jaws to draw in a long breath.

  Cat scent! Hollypaw tasted it carefully, wondering if WindClan was trespassing on ThunderClan territory again. But it wasn’t WindClan scent. It wasn’t any cat scent Hollypaw had encountered before. Had a group of rogues invaded the territory?

  “Are you okay?”

  Hollypaw let out a long breath of relief at the sound of her father’s voice. She turned to see Brambleclaw padding up to her, his powerful shoulders brushing through the bracken. Sandstorm and Honeypaw followed a little way behind.

  “I’m fine,” Hollypaw replied, trying to hide how the strange scent had spooked her. “I can scent cats, but it’s not any scent I know.”

  Brambleclaw tasted the air, then glanced sharply at Sandstorm, who was doing the same. The ginger she-cat took a pace toward him and murmured something in his ear; Brambleclaw nodded. His amber eyes looked troubled.

  “Run back to camp, as fast as you can,” he meowed to both apprentices. “Tell Firestar to send more warriors.”

  “But not Stormfur or Brook,” Sandstorm added.

  Hollypaw couldn’t understand the urgency in the warriors’ voices. The tension in their fur crackled like greenleaf lightning.

  “What is it?” Honeypaw asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “We can’t leave you here if there’s danger,” Hollypaw protested.

  “Just do as you’re told!” Sandstorm snapped.

  “There’s no danger,” Brambleclaw added quietly. “But we need more warriors. Go now.”

  Hollypaw and Honeypaw exchanged one scared glance and pelted back through the forest toward the camp. Fear made Hollypaw’s fur stand on end, and her heart thudded with more than the speed of her running.

  “Firestar!” she yowled as she thrust her way through the thorn tunnel. “Firestar, come quickly!”

  As Hollypaw skidded to a stop beneath the Highledge, she spotted Mousefur jerk awake from her place outside the elders’ den and leap to her paws, tail lashing. Cloudtail erupted from the warriors’ den, his fur bristling and his claws scraping the ground. Behind him, Brightheart and Sorreltail popped their heads through the branches, eyes wide with alarm. Daisy swept her tail protectively around her two tiny kits, who were playing in a patch of sunlight near the nursery, and herded them back inside.

  Firestar emerged from his den on the Highledge. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Strange cats…” Hollypaw gasped, still trying to catch her breath.

  “Near the WindClan border,” Honeypaw added.

  “Brambleclaw said—” Hollypaw whirled around as yowling broke out behind her. More cats were tumbling through the thorn tunnel into the camp: Graystripe was in the lead, with Birchfall and Whitewing just behind.

  But that wasn’t what made Hollypaw arch her back while every hair on her pelt rose and tingled. With the three ThunderClan cats were two others that she didn’t recognize: a massive dark brown tabby tom and a pure black she-cat, who was smaller and skinnier than the cats of ThunderClan. Graystripe and the two younger warriors stood close around them, not allowing them any farther into the camp. As the she-cat opened her jaws to speak, Graystripe silenced her with a threatening hiss.

  Hollypaw flexed her claws and let her tail tip flick to and fro. The scent coming from the two strange cats was the same one she had picked up near the WindClan border. The scent of intruders!

  CHAPTER 8

  Jaypaw stiffened at the sound of screeching from the entrance to the camp. He paused with one paw raised, a stem of watermint still snagged in his claws. “What’s that?” he meowed.

  Leafpool didn’t reply. Thornclaw had come to see her, complaining about bellyache, and Jaypaw guessed she wouldn’t notice a whole herd of badgers trampling through the stone hollow until she had finished treating her patient.

  “Jaypaw, where’s that watermint?” she called.

  “Here.” Jaypaw grabbed up more of the stems and thrust them at his mentor as he darted past the bramble screen and into the main clearing. He could hear the rustling of leaves as warriors came out of their den and the swift pattering of paws as apprentices bounded up to see what was going on. Whispers of alarm came from every corner of the clearing, and from beneath the Highledge, Jaypaw detected powerful fear-scent from Hollypaw and Honeypaw.

  Graystripe was speaking, his voice raised in a fierce growl. “Not another paw step, until you tell us what you’re doing on our territory.”

  Jaypaw’s fur began to bristle as he picked up the scent of two strange cats. It seemed as if Graystripe and his patrol had caught a couple of rogues trespassing on ThunderClan territory. Jaypaw tasted the air carefully. The scent was strong, but with a bitter tinge that seemed familiar, though he couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

  Concentrating fiercely, Jaypaw tried to pull the newcomers’ feelings into himself as if he was drawing in their scent. He could sense fear, suspicion, and an overwhelming desperation. It had been difficult for them to come here, yet they’d had no choice.

  They need something from ThunderClan!

  Before any cat spoke, there was the sound of more cats approaching through the tunnel. It was Stormfur and Brook, with fresh-kill in their jaws.

  “Talon! Night!” Brook exclaimed, dropping the vole. “What are you doing here?”

  Cloudtail spoke first, his voice sharp with suspicion. “You mean you know these cats?”

  “Firestar, these are the cats we scented near the WindClan border,” Hollypaw broke in, before either of the strangers could reply. “Brambleclaw sent us to warn you about intruders.”

  “They’re not intruders.” Leafpool spoke calmly as she emerged from her den, her pelt brushing Jaypaw’s. “They come from the Tribe of Rushing Water.”

  Firestar bounded down the rocks that led to his den. “Of course! It’s Talon of Swooping Eagle, isn’t it, and Night of No Stars?”

  “That’s right,” a quiet, accented voice replied.

  Jaypaw sensed the tension in the clearing begin to relax. He could make out a few murmurs of recognition coming from the older ThunderClan cats, the ones who had made the Great Journey and stayed with the Tribe of Rushing Water in the mountains.

  “I knew I’d seen that black she-cat somewhere before,” Dustpelt muttered.

  “I wonder what they want?” Sorreltail asked; she sounded puzzled rather than hostile.

  “I suppose we’ll soon find out,” Brackenfur replied. “It must be important, for them to come all this way.”


  “Stormfur, Brook.” Firestar spoke again. “Bring your prey over to the fresh-kill pile. You must want to catch up with old friends.”

  “It doesn’t look much like it,” Hollypaw whispered into Jaypaw’s ear; she had bounded up to him while he was concentrating on the voices. “Brook seems really upset, and Stormfur looks as if he’s got a bit of crow-food under his nose.”

  “He just gave Brook a nudge,” Lionpaw added, padding up in his turn. “She doesn’t want to go near them.”

  Jaypaw could tell from his littermate’s paw steps that he was still stiff from his wounds from the fight with Ashfur. Yet he sensed pride coming from Lionpaw, too, as if he knew he had fought well.

  “They’re touching noses now,” Hollypaw reported softly. “But they still look as if—”

  Jaypaw didn’t hear the rest of what she said. Suddenly the ground lurched beneath his paws and he felt blood pounding in his ears. The stench of blood was in his nose. Scarlet light washed over him and he realized that he could see.

  On every side he was jostled by fighting cats. He could hear their screeching and the slash of claws through fur. Blood spattered against his pelt, hot and sticky. Underpaw the ground was hard stone; Jaypaw’s claws scrabbled on it as he tried to keep his balance. His paws were splayed across a tilted boulder, sliding slowly downward. He scrambled across a narrow crevice, barely saving himself from being trapped, then caught a glimpse of a sheer drop beneath him and nothing ahead but the open sky, stained bloodred as the sun went down.

  Dizzy from the height and the fierceness of the battle, Jaypaw felt as though his paws were frozen to the rock. Where was he? This was no dream, and yet the clearing by the lake had vanished as if it had never been. He bit back a yowl of terror as the scene flickered; darkness returned, but not the unbroken night of his blindness. He was in a cave, where the noise of falling water echoed from the rocks. Moonlight shone through a glittering screen of water that covered the entrance.

  Cats were sitting all around him, talking to one another in quiet, serious voices. Jaypaw could pick up their scents and recognized those that belonged to the intruders who had just arrived at the camp. They were sitting opposite him: a huge tabby tom and a smaller black she-cat. Movement at the far side of the cave caught his eye, and he spotted a muscular gray warrior rising to his paws. Scent told him that he was looking at Stormfur. So the tabby she-cat with him must be Brook.

  Stormfur addressed a stone-gray cat who sat on a boulder at the head of a cave. “It’s no use expecting these cats to leave,” he meowed. “They want to settle here, and they don’t care how much trouble they’re giving us. We have to show them that they must respect our territory.”

  “And how do we do that?” another cat asked.

  “Hang on, we don’t want any other cats living near us.” It was the tabby tom who spoke. “The mountains are ours.”

  “Not anymore, Talon,” Stormfur mewed regretfully.

  “We’ll just have to get used to it,” Brook added.

  Stormfur dipped his head in agreement. “I suggest—” he began.

  The stone-colored cat on the rock twitched his tail. “The Tribe of Endless Hunting has shown me nothing about this,” he protested.

  “Then perhaps the ancestors of these new cats walk in different skies.” Stormfur’s tone was respectful, but Jaypaw could sense his frustration, sharp as thorns. “The Tribe is used to driving off stray loners,” the gray warrior continued, “but this is different. We have to find a different way of dealing with them.”

  Night, the black she-cat, leaned forward, stretching her neck to look at Stormfur. “What do you suggest?”

  “Why ask him?” The question came from a skinny, speckled brown cat crouched near the rippling screen of water. His muzzle was white with age and he had lost an eye. “He’s only just set paw in the mountains. What does he know about our ways?”

  “That’s just why we should listen,” Talon snapped back at him. “Stormfur lived where there are many other cats. He must know better than us how to deal with these strangers.”

  “That’s right!” a cat called from the shadows.

  More cats joined in, some protesting, some encouraging Stormfur, until the whole cave was filled with caterwauling. Stormfur mewed something softly to Brook, and she touched his shoulder with her nose.

  Jaypaw flicked his ears. “Get on with it,” he muttered. “Let him speak.”

  Eventually the gray cat on the rock raised his tail for silence. “We will hear what Stormfur has to say,” he announced.

  “Thank you, Stoneteller.” Stormfur dipped his head. Turning to the rest of the Tribe, he hesitated for a heartbeat. “Where I lived in the forest,” he began at last, “all four Clans knew that they had to stay out of one another’s territory. Cats who trespassed would be driven out.”

  “And how do we do that?” the skinny elder demanded. “These intruders go where they like.”

  “We need a show of strength, Rain,” Stormfur explained. His blue eyes glowed. “One battle should be all it takes. After that, these newcomers will either go away for good, or they’ll stay well away from us.”

  To Jaypaw’s surprise, Brook stepped forward to stand beside her mate. In the hollow by the lake, she was always quiet, but now her eyes shone and she held her tail high as she looked around at her Tribemates.

  “Stormfur will teach us what to do,” she meowed. “He knows battle moves these strangers can’t even imagine.”

  “He’ll likely get us all killed,” the elder called Rain grumbled.

  “The Tribe has lived in these mountains for seasons upon seasons,” Brook insisted. “Are we going to leave, just like that?”

  Several cries of “No!” came from around the cave. Almost every cat in the Tribe had risen to its paws, its pelt bristling and its teeth bared. Only a few, like the gray elder, stayed where they were, glaring at their Tribemates. Amid the uproar, Stoneteller sat unmoving on his rock. Jaypaw could not read his expression or sense anything of what he felt.

  Suddenly Jaypaw realized the moonlight was fading. The enthusiastic yowls of the Tribe changed to screeches of terror and fury. Icy wind ruffled his fur and he was knocked off his paws as another cat charged past him. The air was filled with the reek of blood.

  Blinking, Jaypaw found himself out on the bare mountainside again. The faint light of dawn drizzled into the sky; clouds hung low over the peaks. He lay on his side on the very edge of a stream, his tail dangling in the gushing water. With a hiss of annoyance he scrambled to his paws, shaking off the icy droplets and struggling to keep his balance on the slick, wet rock.

  Around him the narrow valley heaved with the bodies of fighting cats. Close by he spotted Talon, rolling over and over in the grip of a powerful silver tom, battering at the intruder’s belly with his hind paws. For a heartbeat the intruder’s throat was exposed, but Talon was too slow to sink his teeth in.

  An apprentice could do better than that! Jaypaw thought.

  A few fox-lengths farther down the valley, Stormfur jumped onto a boulder. “Leap onto their shoulders!” he yowled. “Don’t let them pin you down!”

  He flung himself back into the battle, raking his claws across the pelt of a tabby she-cat, then whirling to confront a muscular black tom who was shaking a small Tribe cat in his jaws as if she were a piece of prey.

  Brook was close by, with Night a paw step behind her, stalking around the side of a boulder to creep up on a couple of the attackers as they would have crept up on their prey. Jaypaw gritted his teeth. The slender she-cats had never been trained to fight. They sprang bravely at their enemies, but the two invaders were almost twice their size and fought back with slashing claws.

  Jaypaw was jostled aside by another pair of fighting cats, snagging his pelt on a thorny bush that grew in the crevice between two rocks. One cat fell on top of him; pushing vainly at the weight of fur and muscle, his jaws flooding with the stench of blood, Jaypaw thought at first that it was dead. Then it jerked convu
lsively, pulled itself to its paws, and dragged itself into the shadows behind a boulder.

  Jaypaw staggered to his paws, ripping his fur as he tore himself free of the bush. Another Tribe cat fled past him, a powerful gray-black tom, his fur ripped and one shoulder soaked in blood. A black-and-white cat caught up with him, crashing into his side and flinging him to the ground.

  “Slit its belly open!” Jaypaw hissed.

  The Tribe cat didn’t hear him. He fought with courage, refusing to give up even when the invader slashed open a wound down the length of his flank, but he had none of the skills that would let him throw off his attacker. The invading tom bit down hard on his throat, then sprang away, leaving the limp body of the Tribe cat half in and half out of the water. His gray fur darkened as blood soaked into it.

  Jaypaw caught sight of Stormfur again, at the center of a group of Tribe cats, including Talon. The gray warrior was yowling encouragement, trying to force a way through the crowd of intruders and drive them back, but the attackers flowed over them like floodwater.

  “Knock them off balance!” Stormfur yowled. “Don’t let them—” Whatever orders he was trying to give were lost as two of the attackers leaped at him from opposite sides; Stormfur vanished in a whirl of teeth and claws.

  One by one the Tribe cats broke away, fleeing upstream toward the steeper slopes. One of them halted beside the body of the gray tom and let out a wail of grief and despair, before pelting onward and disappearing into the shadows.

  “That’s right, run!” The silver tabby tom bounded to the top of a boulder, jeering at the Tribe cats as they fled. “Run and don’t come back!”

  “Rabbits!” a brown-and-white she-cat added, leaping up to the silver tom’s side. “This is our place now!”

  “No—stop!” Stormfur screeched, shaking off his attackers with a spatter of blood. “We can still drive them back!”

  No cat listened to him except for Brook, standing at his shoulder and begging her Tribemates to come back. Then she glanced over her shoulder and her neck fur bristled as she saw a fresh wave of intruders hurtling up the slope.