Tallstar's Revenge (2 page)

P
ROLOGUE

The dark moor rose to meet
the night-black sky. Starry pelts sparked like flint against the trembling heather. Grass streamed around the paws of WindClan's former warriors as they sat, whiskers stiff, unbowed by the wind.

“Welcome to StarClan, Heatherstar.” A sleek tom with starshine glowing in his pelt faced the young WindClan leader. “I have watched you serve your Clanmates with bravery and loyalty as their deputy, and now I am honored to give you a life as their leader.”

Heatherstar dipped her head. “Thank you, Thrushpelt.”

“I died a medicine cat,” the tom reminded her. “But before that, I was a warrior. I never hesitated to fight for what I knew to be right, however hard that seemed. I give you your eighth life and, with it, the courage to trust your instincts. When your heart speaks,
listen
.” Leaning forward, he touched his nose to Heatherstar's head.

As the new life pulsed through her, the gray cat groaned through clenched jaws.

Thrushpelt stepped back and glanced over his shoulder. “Daisytail?”

A light brown she-cat with ginger patches padded from among her Clanmates, her fur blazing with silver light. “Do you know me?” she gently asked Heatherstar.

Heatherstar lifted her head and drew in a shuddering breath. “Yes! I have heard your name many times. You refused to let your kits fight against ShadowClan, and your insistence was so strong, it became part of the Clan code.”

Daisytail nodded. “From then on, no kit was allowed to train for battle before they were six moons old. I would have taken on each of those ShadowClan warriors myself before I let my little ones suffer a single blow. Even though you do not have kits of your own, Heatherstar, I want you to share the strength of my conviction. For your ninth life I give you the force of a mother's love. Use it to protect your Clan.” She pressed her muzzle to Heatherstar's head. “It is stronger than the wind and outlasts life itself.”

Heatherstar rocked as a spasm gripped her. She lurched forward and stumbled onto her knees.

A mottled gray-brown tom stepped forward. “Heatherstar?” He leaned down to the new WindClan leader. “Are you okay?”

Daisytail flicked her tail. “She is strong, Hawkheart. I can feel it.”

Heatherstar straightened up. “I'm fine,” she told the tom. Trembling, she faced StarClan. “I promise that I will make WindClan a force to be respected among all the Clans of the forest. I will lead them well through my nine lives. And when I join you, I hope you will welcome me with pride at what I have achieved.”

Murmurs of approval rose among the ranks of starry pelts.

“Remember,” Daisytail called, “there is no power stronger than love!” As she spoke, StarClan blurred and began to spiral upward like a comet's tail, into the midnight sky.

“We should return to the Moonstone,” Hawkheart murmured in Heatherstar's ear.

Heatherstar shook her head. “I'm not ready to leave StarClan.”

Hawkheart watched the glimmering pelts fade. “But they've gone.”

“Their scent remains.” Heatherstar swished her tail stubbornly.

“Then I'll meet you at Mothermouth when you wake.” Turning, Hawkheart padded down the slope, his pelt melting into the shadows until he was hardly visible against the heather. “The Clan will be waiting for us at home.”

“I won't be long.” Heatherstar watched the medicine cat vanish. Still unsteady, she climbed the moor, moving slowly at first but growing stronger with each step as the new lives throbbed beneath her fur. She broke into a run, charging across the windswept grass, her whiskers flattened against her face. She stopped suddenly as the moor dropped away. Balancing at the edge of the sandy precipice, Heatherstar gazed across woods and meadows stretching into darkness.

Paw steps sounded behind her. “Why do you linger here?” The mew was soft.

Heatherstar turned, blinking. The fading pelt of an ancient warrior shimmered in front of her. “I wanted to breathe the scents of StarClan for a while longer,” she confessed. “Who . . . who are you?”

“I am Mothflight.” The she-cat's green eyes shone. Behind her, the heather showed through her coat. Her pelt, once white, now glowed dimly, more starlight than fur.

“Mothflight?” Heatherstar's eyes widened. “You were WindClan's first medicine cat!”

Mothflight nodded.

“You discovered the Moonstone,” Heatherstar whispered. “And now you've come to see
me
?”

“I watched your naming ceremony,” Mothflight told her. “And waited for the others to leave so that I could speak with you alone.”

“Do you have a prophecy for me?” Heatherstar curled her claws excitedly into the peaty soil.

“Not a prophecy, no. A warning, perhaps.” Mothflight's voice was hardly more than a breath on the wind.

Heatherstar leaned closer, ears pricking.

“Listen carefully, Heatherstar,” Mothflight insisted. “Whatever happens, do not demand the loyalty of your Clan.”

Heatherstar lifted her head in surprise. “Of
course
I'll demand it! I've earned it.”

“Warriors must decide for themselves where their loyalty lies.”

“It should lie with the Clan and with me,” Heatherstar hissed.

“But
you
cannot test it.”

Heatherstar bristled. “I'm their
leader
.”

Mothflight's tail twitched. “You are young. Wisdom will come with experience. Until then, let my words guide you.”

Heatherstar snorted. “
I
will make the decisions for my Clan.”

“Of course,” Mothflight soothed. “But you don't yet realize that sometimes warriors must leave what they love before they understand what they truly value.”

“Leave what they
love
?” Heatherstar echoed. “Do you mean their Clan?”

Mothflight stared back silently.

“Warriors who leave their Clan
betray
their Clan,” Heatherstar spat. “
My
Clan will be loyal.”

“There will be a warrior whose loyalty to WindClan will waver,” Mothflight told her. “A cat who will have to seek far beyond the confines of your territory to discover where his heart truly lies.”

Heatherstar curled her lip. “Are you telling me that one of my Clan will turn
rogue
?”

Mothflight blinked, her eyes like green stars. “He will stray, and you must let him, even if you fear he will never return. It is the only way he will discover where he truly belongs.”

C
HAPTER
1

“Be careful, Tallkit!”

Tallkit paused when he heard Palebird's anxious call. “I'll be okay!” he mewed. He glanced back at the nursery. The warm, milky scent of his mother drifted from the entrance.

Inside the thick gorse den, Brackenwing soothed her. “Barkkit and Shrewkit will watch out for him, I promise.”

Tallkit shivered. This was only his second sunrise outside the nursery, and his paws pricked with excitement. A light dusting of snow had turned the camp white, frosting the tussocky grass and thick heather walls. The freezing air stung his nose. He fluffed up his fur.

Barkkit pawed at the white tip of Tallkit's black tail. “You look like you're turning to ice as well.”

Tallkit flicked his tail away, purring with amusement. His white muzzle and white paws would just make it easier for him to hide in the snow!

Shrewkit bounced past him. “Let's show him the Hunting Stones, Barkkit!”

Tallkit stared at his denmates. They were three moons older and twice his size, but he was determined to keep up with them. “I thought we were going to climb Tallrock again,” he protested. “I
know
I'll make it this time.” His eyes stung in the bright, cold air. He'd only opened them for the first time a few sunrises ago and they were still slowly adjusting to sunlight after the cozy gloom of the nursery.

He blinked up at the high slab of granite where Barkkit had told him Heatherstar stood to address the Clan. It loomed, jagged and dark, from a wide, sandy crater, which encircled it like an empty pool.

The Meeting Hollow.

Tallkit gazed into it wide-eyed. At the bottom, Heatherstar, Hawkheart, and Reedfeather huddled beside the stone, their breath billowing as they spoke.

Hawkheart looked up and caught Tallkit's eye over the rim. “Our youngest kit is exploring again,” he murmured.

Tallkit shifted his paws. The dark glint in the medicine cat's gaze made him nervous. Palebird had warned him to stay away from the gray-brown tom; he had little patience for kits.

“Stay under cover, Tallkit.” Hawkheart narrowed his eyes. “We don't want you attracting buzzards to the camp.”

“Buzzards?” Tallkit's heart lurched.

“Kits are their favorite prey,” Hawkheart warned. “And they can spot you from Highstones.”

Reedfeather's whiskers twitched. “Don't scare the poor kit.” There was a purr in his throat as he nodded to Shrewkit, who had popped up beside Tallkit. “What are you showing him today?”

Shrewkit flicked his tail. “The Hunting Stones.”

Heatherstar shook frost from her thick gray pelt. “Be careful,” she cautioned. “The stones will be icy.”

“Don't come mewling to me if you sprain a paw,” Hawkheart called.

“Come,” the WindClan leader urged her deputy and medicine cat. “It's too cold to sit here. Let's go to my den.”

As Heatherstar hopped out of the Meeting Hollow, Hawkheart and Reedfeather followed, their tails twitching as they ducked into the shelter of the leader's den beneath a gorse bush at the far end of the clearing.

“Can we play sliding in the hollow?” Barkkit mewed.

“I want to go to the Hunting Stones,” Shrewkit insisted. He scraped up a pawful of snow and flung it at Barkkit. The wind snatched the flakes and tossed them back into his whiskers.

As he sneezed, Barkkit purred with amusement. “Wow! You're scary!”

“I'll show you!” Shrewkit hurled himself at his brother and sent him rolling over the grass.

Tallkit backed away as their dark brown pelts scuffed the snow.
It must be fun to have a littermate to play fight with.
If only Finchkit hadn't died.

Shrewkit leaped free of his brother's grip. “Look at Tallkit!” he teased. “He's blinking like he's just opened his eyes!”

Tallkit bristled. “I'm nearly half a moon old and Sandgorse says I opened my eyes quicker than
any
kit in the nursery.” He glared at his denmates. “I'm just not used to snow.” The ground sparkled, and the heather that formed the camp boundary—so dark against the sky yesterday—now glittered brightly with frost. What would the moor look like when the heavy snows came and the world turned completely white? Palebird had warned Tallkit that leaf-bare hit WindClan hardest of all the Clans, because the moor touched the sky. But this also made them more special, and safer.

“We're closer to Silverpelt than any Clan,” she'd told him as she snuggled him in their mossy nest. “Which means that StarClan watches us more closely.”

Tallkit heard worry in her mew. “Is that why we tunnel under the moor?” he asked. “To hide from the dead warriors in other Clans?”

“Don't be silly.” Palebird had licked his ear. “We tunnel because we're stronger and cleverer than all the other Clans together.” Her washing became brisker, silencing him.

“I'm going to the Hunting Stones!” Shrewkit charged across the grass.

Barkkit raced after him. “What about sliding in the hollow?”

“There's not enough snow for real sliding.” Shrewkit veered away from Tallrock.

“You're just scared.” Barkkit swerved after his brother, sending a shower of frozen flakes up from his paws.

“Am not!” Shrewkit called back.

Tallkit followed, not caring where they chose to play. It felt great to be outside, the grass cold on his pads as he raced across it.

“Watch out!”

Tallkit skidded to a halt as Cloudrunner yowled at him. The pale gray tom was crossing his path with Aspenfall. The warriors were heading to the prey heap, carrying fresh-kill. Wind-ruffled from the moor, they'd brought food for the Clan. Tallkit gazed at them, impressed by their long legs and wiry tails. They were moor runners, which meant they served WindClan by hunting and patroling the borders, and Tallkit could smell heather on their pelts.

In the brittle patch of bracken where the tunnelers made their nests, Woollytail looked up from washing his mud-streaked belly. Like all the cats who served the Clan by carving out new tunnels and shoring up old ones far beneath the moor, his pelt was permanently stained with sand and dust. He nodded at the rabbit swinging from Cloudrunner's jaws. “Did you catch that on the high-moor?”

“Yes.” At the prey heap, Cloudrunner kicked away a stale mouse left from the previous day's hunt and dropped his catch. “You're right, as usual, Woollytail.”

Tallkit blinked at Woollytail. “How did you know?”

“I can smell the sand in its fur.” Woollytail flicked his tail and returned to washing.

Hickorynose, his tunnelmate, shifted on the bracken beside him. “You only find sand tunnels on the high-moor.” The brown tom lifted a forepaw and rubbed dirt from his ear. “Not like the gorge tunnel.
That's
all soil and grit. But it'll open the way to fresh prey beside the river.”

Cloudrunner snorted. “If you ever find a way to stop the cave-ins.”

Aspenfall laid a vole beside the rabbit. “The grit makes it unstable. It's not safe to tunnel there.”

Woollytail narrowed his eyes. “It is if you know what you're doing.”

Tallkit glanced from tunneler to moor runner as an awkward silence fell between them.

Heatherstar cut through it. She padded from her den and followed the rim of the Meeting Hollow. Passing the grass nests of the moor runners, she brushed by Cloudrunner and stopped beside the bracken patch. “Will the new tunnels be ready before newleaf, Woollytail?”

Woollytail sniffed. “It takes time to shore up the roofs.”

Heatherstar flicked her tail. “I'm sure you'll find a way.” She turned back to the prey heap and sniffed Cloudrunner's rabbit.

Does Heatherstar ever patrol underground?
Tallkit watched the WindClan leader curiously. She'd trained as a moor runner, but surely as leader, she needed to understand what it was like to be a tunneler too.

“Hurry up, Tallkit!” Barkkit called.

Tallkit jerked his attention away and scurried after his denmates. Barkkit and Shrewkit were already at the Hunting Stones. The smooth, low rocks huddled like rabbits in the grass near the elders' den. Sprigs of heather poked between them and moss clumped at their base. Shrewkit leaped onto the highest stone and crowed down at Barkkit. “I am leader of the Hunting Stones!”

Barkkit scrambled onto the boulder beside him. “I'm deputy!”

Tallkit reached the rocks and waded through the thick moss at the bottom. Reaching up with his forepaws, he kicked out with his hind legs and tried to jump up beside Barkkit. His claws slithered on the frosty stone and he slid back into the chilly moss.

“Hey, Wormkit!” Shrewkit called down. “Why don't you tunnel underneath? You're not supposed to be a moor runner like us!”

Tallkit's pelt pricked with confusion. “I'm not Wormkit. I'm
Tall
kit!”

“You're going to spend your life wriggling underground like a worm, aren't you?” Shrewkit taunted. “That's where you should be now—
under
the rocks, not on them.”

Tallkit frowned. He knew that his mother and father were tunnelers, but did that really mean he couldn't play on the Hunting Stones?

Barkkit reached down with his forepaw. “Ignore him and try again, Tallkit!” he mewed.

Tallkit leaped for his denmate's paw and felt it curl beneath his own. He churned his hind legs while Barkkit heaved. Scrabbling against the stone, he flung himself onto the rock. “Thanks!” He sat up beside Barkkit, his pads stinging on the frozen rock.

He gazed across the camp. Sun shone from a crisp, blue sky, thawing the grassy hummocks, which bulged like clumped fur across the frosty clearing. The tunnelers' bracken patch glowed orange while the long grass enclosing the moor runners' nests drooped lower as the frost slowly loosened its grip.

A white face appeared at the entrance of the elders' den. “You young'uns are up early.” Whiteberry slid out and sat gingerly on the cold grass a tail-length from the Hunting Stones.

Lilywhisker limped after him and stood tasting the air. She was the youngest in the elders' den, far younger than Whiteberry, Flamepelt, and Flailfoot. She'd retired to the den after a tunnel collapse had smashed her hind leg and left it useless. “Do you want to come onto the moor?” she asked Whiteberry.

The white elder looked at her. “So long as you don't try to get me down any rabbit holes.”

“Not after last time,” Lilywhisker purred. “I've never seen a cat chased out of a tunnel by a rabbit.”

Whiteberry shifted his paws. “I
thought
it was a fox.”

“Your sense of smell must be worn out.” Flicking her tail teasingly, Lilywhisker hopped toward the camp entrance. Her lifeless hind leg left a trail through the shallow snow.

Whiteberry heaved himself to his paws and followed. “Yours will wear out too after a few more moons sharing a den with Flailfoot. He's got fox-breath.”

“It's not that bad,” Lilywhisker called over her shoulder.

“Do you want to swap nests?” Whiteberry caught up to her. “Last night he snored right in my muzzle. I dreamed I'd fallen into a badger den.”

As they disappeared into the heather tunnel, a pale ginger tom nosed his way past them, heading into camp.
Sandgorse!
Tallkit lifted his tail as his father trotted into the clearing.

The ginger warrior's pelt was speckled with earth. “I've left a stack of sticks at the tunnel entrance,” he called to Woollytail.

The gray-and-white tunneler lifted his nose. “Great!” he meowed. “We can start shoring up the roof this afternoon.”

“You'll have to manage without me.” Sandgorse headed toward the Hunting Stones. “Tallkit! I want to show you something.”

Tallkit blinked excitedly at his father. “What is it?” Was Sandgorse going to show him the moor? Tallkit slid off the rock and scrambled over the tussocky grass. He skidded to a halt at Sandgorse's paws.