Path Оf А Warrior

Chapter Six

Ice crackled beneath Tawnypelt’s paws with every step. “I thought you remembered how to get to the cave,” she meowed, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She raised her paw and shook it to loosen the snow stuck between her paw pads. Her legs were scratched and raw from all the times she’d slipped and lost her footing. It felt as though they’d been climbing up the narrow, icy path forever.

“We must be close. I can hear the waterfall,” Dovewing answered. Tawnypelt flicked her ears and then, above the roar of the wind, she could hear the rush of water, too, quite close, but she couldn’t see it. The sound echoed off the stones all around them, making it impossible to know which direction it came from.

So close, and yet so far.

She felt exhausted—both physically and mentally. The path was treacherous, but even more exhausting was their worry for Shadowkit, and the constant struggle to keep him safe. Each time he’d slipped, Dovewing or Tawnypelt had lunged forward to grab him by the scruff. Each time he’d groaned or cried out in frustration, Tawnypelt’s breath had stopped, and she’d braced herself for another of his fits. Each time a shadow had darkened her vision, she’d cringed and searched the sky for a swooping predator. For a while, it had seemed impossible to her that the three of them would survive this journey with their wits intact. In their frustration, she and Dovewing had started to snap at each other, until they were both so tired that they just fell silent.

Now they were in a narrow, winding cleft between huge boulders. At least we’re safe from eagles, Tawnypelt thought, looking up to where a black dot circled lazily, high in the sky. “Stay close, Shadowkit,” she warned, glancing down at the kit between them. The snow was up to his belly and he looked tired and cold, his tail drooping, but he wasn’t complaining.

As they came around a bend, the cleft abruptly ended, sheer gray rock rising ahead of them.

Tawnypelt craned her neck, her heart sinking. She had leaped to the top of boulders like this, the first time she had come to the mountains, but they hadn’t been covered with slippery ice. And there was no way Shadowkit could climb up there, even with help. “We’ll have to turn back and find another way,” she realized, her heart sinking.

Before Dovewing could reply, a growl came from above.

“Who are you?” A lithe young she-cat leaped from the rock overhead and landed in front of them, her teeth bared and ears flat. “You’re on our territory.” Her pale brown fur was bristling as much as it could beneath smeared patches of mud.

The mud is to hide her from the eagles, Tawnypelt remembered, relief surging through her body. We’ve reached the Tribe!

Shadowkit was pressing close against his mother, frightened of the hostile young cat. Tensing, Tawnypelt prepared to argue. We’ve made it this far—now we have to get to Stoneteller.

“Hold on, Breeze,” another voice called. Looking up, Tawnypelt saw several faces peering down at them. “Dovewing, is that you?”

“Snow?” Dovewing called back. With a thump, a white she-cat, her fur barely visible beneath a coat of mud, landed in front of them.

“This is Dovewing,” she said to the younger she-cat. “She comes from the Clans, far away in the flatlands. She’s a friend to the Tribe.” Turning to Tawnypelt, she dipped her head and held out a paw in a gesture Tawnypelt remembered from her last visit to the Tribe. “I am Snow Falling on Stones, and this is Breeze That Rustles the Leaves, a cave-guard to-be.”

Tawnypelt dipped her head to them in response and introduced herself and Shadowkit. “I came here with Stormfur, a long time ago, and then with the Clans when we journeyed to our new home,” she added.

“You know Stormfur?” Breeze’s ears perked up. “He and Brook are my parents!”

“We both know your parents well,” Tawnypelt mewed. Stormfur, born a RiverClan cat, and Brook, born in the Tribe, had lived with ThunderClan by the lake for a while before going back to the Tribe at last.

“You must be a younger sister of Lark and Pine,” Dovewing commented. “They were kits the last time I saw them. And Snow, you were a to-be when I was here before, but I guess now you’re a cave-guard?”

“Yes, I am. We were patrolling the border,” Snow said, with a concerned glance at Shadowkit. “But I think getting you back to the cave is more important.” She looked up at two cat faces still peering down at them from above. “Moss! Night! Meet us by the thornbush.”

As they followed Snow back through the icy crevice between the boulders, Breeze looked down at Shadowkit. “Are you all right to walk a little farther?” she asked.

Shadowkit waded through the snow with his head held high. “I’m very strong and brave,” he told her. “I’m a ShadowClan cat.” Despite the icy wind, Tawnypelt was warmed by the pride in his mew.

Snow glanced at Dovewing. “Our kits stay in the cave until they become to-bes,” she said with a trace of accusation. “It’s dangerous out on the mountain, especially during frozen-water.”

“I know,” Dovewing replied solemnly. “Our kits usually stay in camp until they’re old enough to be apprenticed, too, but this is important. We have to talk to Stoneteller.”

The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached the pool at the bottom of the waterfall at last. A steady wall of water crashed down the mountainside, its thunder so loud that Tawnypelt’s ears rang.

“It’s beautiful,” Shadowkit murmured, staring up at it. Sunshine reflected off the falling water, making it shimmer. Where the waterfall pounded into the pool below, a cloud of white mist rose all around, dampening the cats’ fur. Shadowkit turned to peer up into Tawnypelt’s face with anxious amber eyes. “But so dangerous.”

“Do you recognize it?” Tawnypelt asked, hoping that the kit would say yes. I need to know this is right. “Is it the place from your vision?”

The kit squinted at the waterfall and then sighed. “I’m not sure. I only saw part of it… .”

Tawnypelt remembered how Shadowkit had trembled and called out, “It’s falling!” He’d been seeing a tree going over this waterfall, hurting the Tribe. As they helped Shadowkit up the rocks that led behind the waterfall to the cave’s entrance, she and Dovewing exchanged a worried look.

The Tribe of Rushing Water’s cave was just as she remembered it. It rose high, as high as the top of the waterfall, and long fangs of rock grew down from the ceiling, high above them. Sunlight shone through the waterfall, giving everything a flickering, dreamlike quality.

I was so young the last time I was here, Tawnypelt thought. She and Rowanclaw hadn’t become mates yet; she had barely become a warrior. She and her companions had shared a single focus: finding the Clans a new home. It was frightening then, but it’s good to look back on. Our whole lives were ahead of us.

Around the edges of the cave, small groups of cats chatted or shared tongues. They quieted as the Clan cats followed the cave-guards into the cave, some standing to get a better look at them. Shadowkit looked around curiously, his eyes bright.

“Dovewing? Tawnypelt?” A long-legged gray tom hurried toward them, his tail twitching excitedly. “It’s been a long time.”

“Crag!” Tawnypelt cried. “I mean, Stoneteller.” She had heard that Crag Where Eagles Nest was now the Teller of the Pointed Stones. But it was hard to believe that the earnest young cave-guard she had met on her first visit was now the Tribe’s leader and healer, their link to the ancestors who guided them, the Tribe of Endless Hunting.

“It is good to see you both, and to meet this fine kit,” Stoneteller mewed warmly after Dovewing had introduced Shadowkit. “But what brings you here?”

Dovewing’s gaze was earnest. “Stoneteller, my son had a vision that we think concerns your Tribe. You need to know what he saw, and we hope that you can help him, too.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Tawnypelt saw that the eyes of the Tribe were fixed on them. “Can we talk in private?” she asked, dropping her voice.

“Of course. Follow me.” Stoneteller turned, heading for a narrow tunnel entrance in the side of the cave.

Inside the next cave, Shadowkit gazed around in wonder, staring at the pale pointed stones that grew up from the floor or down from the ceiling, some meeting in the middle to form what looked like thin, twisted trees. Sunlight fell from a crack high in the cave’s roof, throwing long shadows across the floor and glinting off the small pools of water that lay here and there between the stones.

“What is this place?” Shadowkit asked, his eyes wide. He stepped out from between Tawnypelt and Dovewing for the first time, wandering forward to look up at the rocky ceiling and tentatively dabble a paw in a cool puddle of water.

“This is the Cave of Pointed Stones,” Stoneteller explained calmly. “I read the signs of nature here. The fall of a cobweb, the sound of a bird’s cry, and the glimmer of moonlight on water all have meaning. In this way, I can understand the guidance of our ancestors, the Tribe of Endless Hunting.”

Shadowkit’s ears perked. “So you’re like a medicine cat?”

“Sort of,” Dovewing told him. “Stoneteller is the healer for the Tribe and he speaks to their ancestors, but he’s also the leader who tells everyone what to do, like Tigerstar does.”

“Wow!” The kit looked at Stoneteller with respect. “That’s a big job!”

Tawnypelt and Dovewing both purred with amusement. Stoneteller brushed his tail across the kit’s back. “I can tell you’re a smart kit,” he said. He looked at Dovewing. “He’s got a strong spirit, despite his small size.”

“I’m going to be a medicine cat,” Shadowkit said calmly. “StarClan lets me see things that other cats can’t.”

Stoneteller sat down near the largest puddle, his eyes thoughtful. “Is this why you’ve come?” he asked.

Dovewing and Tawnypelt looked at each other. “Like Dovewing said, Shadowkit has been having visions we think are about your Tribe,” Tawnypelt began.

“They are, I’m sure of it,” Shadowkit broke in. “The waterfall looks just like in my vision.” He looked up at Stoneteller appealingly. “There was a huge, huge tree. And it came right over the waterfall and part of it went into the cave and hurt cats. You have to protect them.”

Stoneteller looked worried. “Did your vision give you any clues about when this will happen?” Shadowkit shook his head, and Stoneteller went on. “I believe that you saw this, but there are no big trees near the waterfall that could fall like that. It’s mostly scraggly thorn trees and bushes so high on the mountain. And I can’t tell the Tribe to leave the cave during frozen-water, not without knowing for how long. It’s too dangerous and cold without our cave’s protection.”

Shadowkit nodded. “When I have the vision again, I will try to find out,” he mewed earnestly.

Tawnypelt’s stomach lurched. She didn’t want to think about Shadowkit having that vision again. She remembered how he had thrashed and wailed, clearly in pain. “Since Shadowkit’s vision is of the Tribe,” she added, “we hoped that meant you would be able to help him, too.”

“He …” Dovewing hesitated, and Tawnypelt could tell she was trying to think of a way of describing Shadowkit’s fits without letting the kit know how worried they were about him. “Shadowkit says the visions make his head hurt—don’t they, Shadowkit? And then his body shakes and he falls down.”

“It makes him very tired,” Tawnypelt went on, keeping her voice as calm as Dovewing’s. We shouldn’t scare Shadowkit. She could tell from the glint of concern in Stoneteller’s eyes, though, that he realized how frightening Shadowkit’s reaction to the visions must be.

Stoneteller crouched down, his gaze level with Shadowkit’s. “I’ll have to see if I can help you with that—all right, Shadowkit?” Looking up at Dovewing and Tawnypelt, he added, “I think it’s best if I speak to Shadowkit alone for a little while.”

Dovewing hesitated, but Tawnypelt could see the trust in Shadowkit’s eyes as he gazed at Stoneteller. “It’ll be all right, Dovewing,” she murmured softly. “Come with me.”

She walked back toward the tunnel to the larger cave, and, after a moment, Dovewing followed.

There were more cats in the cave now that the sun was sinking toward the horizon. The prey-hunters and cave-guards who had been out on the mountain had returned for the night. Kits were chasing one another through the wide-open spaces of the cave, while the older cats shared tongues or chatted quietly.

Unfamiliar cats’ faces turned to watch Tawnypelt and Dovewing with interest, and the two Clan cats hesitated.

“Dovewing!” a friendly voice called, and then another.

“Is Jayfeather with you?”

“How is Lionblaze?”

Dovewing brightened. “Moss!” she called in greeting. “Sheer!”

Tawnypelt peered at the cats half-hidden by the cave’s shadows. Had it really been so long since she was here that she wouldn’t recognize any cat? She stepped closer. Among the elders, wasn’t that Bird That Rides the Wind?

“Tawnypelt!” a warm voice meowed, and a brown tabby she-cat rose gracefully to greet her.

“Brook!” Tawnypelt cried. “I’m so pleased to see you.” Beside Brook, she saw a familiar dark gray tom. “Stormfur, how are you?”

The two once-Clan cats made room for her to sit beside them. “We heard from Breeze that you two had arrived,” Stormfur explained. “I hope there’s nothing wrong back at the lake?”

“No, we had some difficulties, but things are all right now,” Tawnypelt mewed. Are they? she wondered. Yes. There is peace among the Clans, even if I’m not sure where my place is in the new ShadowClan. “Tigerheart is the leader of ShadowClan now,” she added. “He’s become Tigerstar. And he and Dovewing are mates.”

“The little kit belongs to Tigerstar and Dovewing, then? It must have been hard bringing a kit up through the mountain,” Brook commented.

“We wanted Stoneteller to have a look at him,” Tawnypelt explained. Changing the subject—their worries over Shadowkit weren’t hers to spread around—she added, “And you’ve had more than one litter of kits since I last saw you, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” said Stormfur proudly. “You met Breeze, and that’s her littermate, Feather of Flying Hawk, over there.” He gestured with his tail at a stone-gray cat practicing fighting moves with some other to-bes on the other side of the cave.

“And these are our first litter, Lark That Sings at Dawn and Pine That Clings to Rock,” Brook said.

Two cats sitting nearby broke off their conversation and dipped their heads politely to Tawnypelt.

“They were only kits the last time any cat from the Clans was here, but they’ve grown to be fine cave-guards.” Stormfur meowed.

“Like their father,” Brook added, and Stormfur purred and gave his chest fur a bashful lick.

“You seem very happy,” Tawnypelt told them both. It was true. Like the rest of the Tribe, they were a bit thinner than Clan cats, but their coats were sleek and their expressions full of warm contentment.

“We are,” Brook agreed. “Things have been good in the mountains.”

“You don’t miss the Clans?” Tawnypelt asked. Despite having lived in ThunderClan, Brook had been born in the Tribe and could be expected to be happy here. But Stormfur was a Clan cat, who had only stayed with the Tribe because of his love for Brook.

“Not really.” Stormfur wrapped his tail more comfortably around his hind paws. “It was an accident that I ever came here, but it was a lucky one. This is where I belong.”

“But they made you leave,” Tawnypelt pointed out, puzzled. The old Stoneteller had exiled Stormfur after he had led them in a disastrous battle. He and Brook had lived with ThunderClan for moons before they were finally able to return.

Stormfur shrugged. “I forgave Stoneteller for that long ago, and we were friends before he died. This place has been home in a way the Clans never were for me.”

“Why?” Tawnypelt was puzzled. “You were born in RiverClan.” As troubled as she’d felt in ShadowClan lately, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Was it possible for a cat to just … leave the place she’d always called home? And be happy somewhere else?

“I was a half-Clan cat,” Stormfur told her. “A paw in RiverClan, a paw in ThunderClan, and never quite accepted in either. Life is simpler here, without all the Clan rivalries and distrust. I mean, you’re a half-Clan cat, too. Didn’t you ever feel that way?”

“No,” Tawnypelt replied automatically. “I chose ShadowClan. I knew it was my home.” But is that true? She’d been born in ThunderClan and had left because she hadn’t felt they’d ever accept her. And she’d fought hard, determined to be a loyal ShadowClan warrior. But now ShadowClan was changing. Is it still my home?

“Tawnypelt’s deputy of ShadowClan now,” Dovewing put in, breaking off from her conversation with Snow.

“That’s great, Tawnypelt,” Brook purred warmly. “And Dovewing, now that you and Tigerstar are mates, you must be in ShadowClan, too.”

“Yes.” Dovewing looked down at her paws. “It was … hard leaving ThunderClan. We didn’t see for a long time how we could be together, not if we wanted to be accepted by either of our Clans.”

And so you left, Tawnypelt thought, with a pang of sympathy. And it took StarClan to bring you back.

“Clans,” Bird, the gray-brown elder, scoffed. “You cats at the lake only make trouble for yourselves by dividing into Clans. You should go where your heart lies.”

Once, Tawnypelt would have flicked her ears dismissively: What did a Tribe cat know about Clans? But now she stilled, doubts filling her. Where does my heart lie? she wondered. Is it still with ShadowClan … now that Rowanclaw is dead? And Dawnpelt and Flametail, too?

“Dovewing! Tawnypelt!” There was a patter of small paws, and Shadowkit flung himself between them. “The Cave of Pointed Stones is full of moonlight, and it’s so amazing!”

Tawnypelt felt her heart warm at the sight of the kit. He does hold a piece of my heart… .

Stoneteller followed Shadowkit across the cave. “I’ve been trying to read the signs the Tribe of Endless Hunting has for us,” he explained. “I still don’t know exactly what Shadowkit’s vision means, but I am sure that he’s seeing the Tribe and is here for a reason. We’ll keep working together to figure it out. And I hope we can also help him control the symptoms he’s been having with his visions.” Noticing that the cats around them were listening, he raised his voice a little. “In the meantime, Dovewing, Tawnypelt, and Shadowkit are our honored guests. And now it is time to eat.”

Around the cave, cats jumped up and hurried toward the fresh-kill pile. Unlike Clan cats, who ate whenever they liked, Tribe cats ate only one meal a day, together. When Tawnypelt had been here as a young warrior, she had been glad the Clans didn’t wait to eat together: When she wanted a mouse, she wanted a mouse. But now, as she looked around at the cats settling down to share a meal, it seemed … nice.

Breeze hurried up to Tawnypelt and placed a vole in front of her. Glancing beside her, she saw that other to-bes were bringing Dovewing and Shadowkit prey as well.

“Would you like to share prey with me, Dovewing?” Stoneteller asked. She purred in agreement, and they each took a bite of the prey before them, then exchanged, Stoneteller’s mouse going to Dovewing, her sparrow to him.

“I like the way they do that here,” Shadowkit said. “Will you share with me, Tawnypelt?”

“Of course,” she said affectionately, and they each took a bite and then exchanged their prey. I like it, too, Tawnypelt decided, looking around at the cats peacefully eating and sharing their meal.

What must it be like, all being from the same Tribe? There were a few rogues in the mountains, Tawnypelt knew, and that was why the Tribe patrolled their borders, but there were no divided Clans continually arguing over territory, distrusting kits who were neither one Clan nor the other.

No deaths in battle here, Tawnypelt thought. It was a hard life in the mountains, she was sure: vicious eagles swooping from above, unforgiving peaks and sheer cliff faces. But cats did not kill cats.

Darktail would never have come here. This territory is too harsh for him—he wanted the rich prey of the lake.

If Darktail had never come, ShadowClan would never have been torn apart. Dawnpelt and so many others would not have died. Without Darktail’s death, no cat would have sought to avenge him.

If we were cats of the Tribe, Rowanstar would still be alive.

The tender sparrow suddenly felt dry in Tawnypelt’s mouth.

A gust of cold air blew through the waterfall, a fine mist of cold water falling over the cats. Shadowkit squeaked in surprise.

“A storm’s coming,” Stoneteller said, “and it is just warm enough to bring rain, not snow. Stay away from the cave entrance until it passes.”

The cats were finishing their meal and breaking into smaller groups, the kit-mothers gathering their kits and heading for the nurseries. Other cats were settling down in the nests dug in the dirt floor at the edges of the cave.

“We should sleep, too.” Dovewing yawned. Tawnypelt’s paws ached with tiredness; it had been a long day.

“I think that Shadowkit should sleep in the Cave of Pointed Stones so that I can watch over him,” Stoneteller said.

Dovewing looked at her kit, her gaze uneasy. “He’s used to sleeping with me in the nursery,” she said slowly.

“Perhaps we could all sleep in the Cave of Pointed Stones?” Tawnypelt suggested, and Dovewing let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course,” Stoneteller agreed, then added, “but a kit with such strong visions will travel far from his mother one day.”

Dovewing’s eyes widened with alarm. Tawnypelt brushed her tail across Dovewing’s back. “But not yet,” she whispered, and Dovewing twitched her ears gratefully.

We lose our kits soon enough, Tawnypelt thought, thinking of Dawnpelt and Flametail, gone to StarClan. And Tigerstar, who had been a full-grown cat for a long time now. Let Dovewing keep hers just a little longer.

They settled on nests of eagle feathers and moss in the Cave of Pointed Stones, steering clear of the crack in the ceiling through which rainwater streamed. Tawnypelt shut her eyes. Outside, thunder rumbled, and inside, the water dripped steadily. She could hear the waterfall pounding outside, more powerful than ever. The steady rushing rhythm lulled her to sleep.

“No! No!” High-pitched screeching—a kit in trouble—jolted Tawnypelt out of her sleep.

“Shadowkit?”

“Shadowkit!”

She and Stoneteller jumped from their nests and rushed toward the kit. Moonlight showed Shadowkit, fur on end, standing in his nest, his eyes stretched wide with horror. Beside him, Dovewing seemed frozen in alarm.

“We have to get them out!” he yowled. “Every cat has to get out of the cave! Now!”