Dark River

Prologue

The indigo sky stretched over the moorland, holding in the night’s chill.

Wind stirred the heather and set the hillside rippling.

Between the low bushes, feline shapes, their fur slicked flat by the breeze, streamed down the slope.

Among them, a tabby queen kept pace with a young tom.

“Are you sure you are ready for this?”

“I’m ready,” the tom answered, his green eyes flashing in the moonlight.

“You’re my eldest, Fallen Leaves,” the queen whispered.

“The first of mine to face the ordeal.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“He was trained well!” a low voice called from behind.

“Even trainin’ can’t prepare a softpaw for rain!” growled another.

Fallen Leaves glanced up. “But the sky’s clear.”

“I smell rain on the wind, I tell you.”

Murmurs of alarm spread among the other cats.

“The sky’s clear!” Fallen Leaves insisted as he stepped out from the swath of heather and halted. The moon lit his ginger-and-white pelt. His Clanmates crowded at his heels, their tails flicking. Beneath his forepaws, the slope fell away steeply. Here, moons of wind and rain had flayed the moorland, peeling away the earth until the stone beneath lay bare, a wall of jagged rock amid the rolling heather.

“Good luck, softpaw!”

Fallen Leaves bounded down the cliff and landed lightly on the sandy earth at its base. His mother scrambled after him. “Take care!”

Fallen Leaves brushed muzzles with the queen. “I will see you at dawn,” he promised.

Ahead of him, a black gash opened like a wound in the cliff face. The fur along his spine lifted. He had never been inside.

Only chosen cats entered the Cave.

He padded forward, feeling the darkness swallow him.

There must be some light to show the way! He struggled to crush the fear thrashing in his chest like a landed fish.

The tunnel will take you to the cave, his tutor’s voice echoed in his mind. Let your whiskers guide you.

His whiskers shivered, alert to the slightest touch, steering him along the narrow passage.

Suddenly, pale light glowed ahead. The tunnel opened into a cave. Its arching walls glowed in the weak moonlight that filtered through a gap in the roof. The sound of rushing water echoed around the rocks.

A river? Underground?

Fallen Leaves stared at the wide stream that split the sandy floor in two. Its black water glimmered dimly in the half-light.

“Fallen Leaves?”

A croaking mew made the young tom jump. He jerked his white muzzle up to see who had spoken and his eyes narrowed as he saw a creature crouched on a high ledge, lit by moonlight pooled on the cave wall.

Was this Rock?

The creature’s pelt was like moleskin, the fur gone except for a few tufts along his spine, and his sightless eyes bulged like eggs. His long, twisted claws flexed on the smooth branch that lay at his paws. The branch was stripped of its bark and, even in this light, Fallen Leaves could see claw marks etched along it, a crowded series of straight lines scar-ring the pale wood.

This must be Rock.

“I can feel your surprise,” the blind creature croaked. “It pricks my pelt like gorse.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Fallen Leaves apologized. “It’s just I did not expect—”

“You did not expect a cat could grow so ugly.”

Fallen Leaves froze with embarrassment. Had Rock read his mind?

“A cat needs wind and sun to shine his fur and good hunting to trim his claws,” Rock went on, his mew rasping like stones on stone. “But I must stay close to our warrior ancestors; those who have taken their place beneath the earth.”

“And for that we thank you,” Fallen Leaves murmured respectfully.

“Don’t thank me,” Rock growled. “It was a destiny I was bound to follow. Besides, you may not feel so grateful to me once your initiation has begun.” As he spoke he ran a long claw over the lines scratched into the smooth branch. A second scratch crossed some lines, but not all. “The uncrossed lines mark the cats who went into the tunnels but did not come out.”

Fallen Leaves stared at the dark holes lurking like mouths at the edge of the cave. If they did not lead to air and safety, where did they end up? “Which tunnels did they go into?”

Rock shook his head. “I cannot help you. To become a sharpclaw, you must find your own way out. I can only send you on your way with the blessing of our ancestors.”

“Can’t you give me any advice?”

“Without light, you will have only your instincts. Follow them and if they are true, you will be safe.”

“What if they are not true?”

“Then you will die in darkness.”

Fallen Leaves squared his shoulders. “I’m not going to die.”

“I hope not,” Rock mewed. “You know you are not allowed to return to this cave? You must find a tunnel that leads straight back to the moor. Is it raining?” he asked suddenly.

Fallen Leaves stiffened. Should he mention the tingling in the air that hinted rain might come? No. Rock might tell him to go back the way he had come and wait until another day.

He couldn’t put off becoming a sharpclaw any longer. He wanted to do this now. “The sky is clear,” he promised.

Rock ran his paw once more over the lines etched in the branch. “Then begin.”

Fallen Leaves eyed the tunnel beneath Rock’s ledge. It seemed larger than the rest, and appeared to slope upward.

Up to the moorland, high above? This was the way he would choose.

Heart pounding, he leaped across the river and headed into the bone-chilling darkness.

By dawn I will be a sharpclaw. His pelt bristled. I hope.