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 realized what she was doing, she leaped—not down, but up toward 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 okay?”
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 fulfill.”
Crowpaw crept forward until his nose touched Feathertail’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. Somewhere deeper in the cave a yowl of jubilation broke out.
“Sharptooth is dead! We are free!”
Stormfur flinched. The price had been too high. He turned his head toward 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 realized 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 Feathertail, 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.
Shuddering, Leafpaw curled deeper into the moss, trying to find comfort in its warmth while the last wisps of her dream hung in her mind like mist. She had been standing near the Thunderpath, watching the Twoleg monsters as they roared through the forest, crushing cats under their huge black paws. Blood had run like a river across the forest floor.
Spottedleaf had stood beside her, and Leafpaw had turned to her with a desperate plea. “Save them! Please! Why don’t you save them?”
Spottedleaf’s eyes had rested sadly on Leafpaw’s dying friends. “There is nothing more StarClan can do to help,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
Then she had faded away, and Leafpaw had woken up.
She rose to her paws, staggering, and padded across to Cinderpelt’s den. The medicine cat was not there; Leafpaw could see an empty heap of bedding at the back of the cleft and wondered if some emergency had called her away, and whether there was yet another disaster they would have to face. A whimper rose at the back of her throat, and she firmly closed her jaws on it. Whatever fate was coming, even if their warrior ancestors were helpless, she would go on helping her Clan while she had the strength.
A rustle behind her made her turn to see Cinderpelt brushing her way through the fern tunnel. The medicine cat’s tail was drooping, though she tried to brighten up when she saw Leafpaw.
“What’s happened?” Leafpaw asked, bracing herself.
“I’ve been to see Frostfur,” the medicine cat replied.
“Don’t look like that; she isn’t dead. In fact she’s a little better. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t got greencough.”
“That’s good.” Leafpaw tried to sound pleased, but she couldn’t help adding, “It’s hunger, not greencough, that will be our real enemy this leaf-bare.”
Cinderpelt nodded. “True. And if more cats disappear, there won’t be enough warriors to provide food for the kits and elders, even if they could find prey.” She let out a discouraged sigh.