Эрин Хантер: Crowfeather's Trial

Crowpaw could hear the wailing of the Tribe cats and see skinny forms perched on ledges high above the cave floor in shades of gray and brown. His panicked gaze sought out Feathertail, and his heart warmed when he spotted her gray pelt. She was crouching beside her brother, Stormfur, on a ledge just under the roof.

She is so beautiful! I don’t want to die before I have the chance to. . . .

Then, somehow, above the terrified cries of the other cats and the snarling of Sharptooth, Crowpaw heard Feathertail.

“I can hear the voices clearly now,” she meowed. “This is for me to do.”

For a moment Crowpaw’s fear was banished by confusion . What voices?

Silver flashed in the moonlight as Feathertail launched herself from the ledge, hurling herself at one of the pointed stones that hung down from the roof. For a few heartbeats she clung there, digging her claws into the rock.

Crowpaw heard Stormfur yowl, “No!”

He watched in horror, forgetting his own danger, as the stone began to split away from the roof with a sickening crack. It couldn’t support Feathertail’s weight and was about to collapse. “Feathertail!” he yowled. “No! Get down from there!”

But it was impossible for Feathertail to escape. With a dull grinding noise, the stone broke away and plummeted down. Feathertail was still clinging to it, falling straight toward Sharptooth. Crowpaw could hardly bear to watch, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from the scene.

The lion-cat looked up; his snarl changed to a scream of pain as the spike thrust its way into his neck. He fell to the ground, writhing in agony, as Feathertail tumbled from the spike, hitting the cave floor beside him. For a moment Crowpaw was frozen with shock as he gazed at the gentle she-cat. Her eyes were closed. Crowpaw couldn’t tell whether she was breathing. Is she alive?

Stormfur hurtled down the rock toward his sister’s side. Beside them the lion-cat twitched for a few heartbeats, then gave a massive shudder and was still.

Sharptooth was dead.

“Feathertail?” Stormfur whispered.

Crowpaw stumbled out of his crevice, still shaking, and crouched beside the two RiverClan cats. “Feathertail?” he rasped, hardly able to keep his voice steady. “Feathertail, are you okay?”

Though Feathertail did not respond, Crowpaw could now see the faint rise and fall of her chest. “She’s alive!” he mewed, his pads prickling with hope.

“She’ll be fine.” Stormfur’s voice cracked, as if he didn’t believe what he was saying. “She’s got to be. She . . . she has a prophecy to fulfill.”

But a terrible fear was growing inside Crowpaw. What if Feathertail just did fulfill the prophecy? It had spoken of a silver cat who would save them from a terrible lion-cat. Crowpaw had never imagined that it would actually come true—or that the silver cat would be Feathertail. But did that mean her story ended here?

What if she never goes home to help lead her Clan to its new territory?

He crept forward until his nose touched Feathertail’s shoulder. Breathing deeply, he let her sweet scent flow through him, and gently began to lick her ruffled pelt. He thought about the future he had dreamed of, where they found a way to be together even though they were from different Clans. “Wake up, Feathertail,” he mewed. “Please wake up.”

He let out a gasp as Feathertail’s eyes fluttered open. She looked warmly at Crowpaw, then turned her head slightly to look up at Stormfur.

“You’ll have to go home without me, brother,” she murmured. “Save the Clan!”

“Feathertail,” he croaked through a painful lump in his throat. Then her head shifted again, her gaze focusing once more on Crowpaw. He trembled at the intense love he saw in her blue eyes. I don’t deserve her, he thought. I never deserved her.

“Think you have nine lives, do you?” Feathertail whispered. “I saved you once. . . . Don’t make me save you again.”

“Feathertail . . . Feathertail, no!” As she weakened before him, Crowpaw felt as if a huge weight were crushing his chest, so that he could hardly speak. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” The words were breathed out so faintly that Crowpaw could scarcely hear them. “I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

Then Feathertail’s eyes closed, and she did not move or speak again.

Crowpaw turned to look at Sharptooth’s body, bloody and growing cold. Feathertail had killed the lion-cat, fulfilling the Tribe’s prophecy, but nothing about it felt right. What good was saving Crowpaw and the Tribe if Feathertail had to give her life to do it? He flung his head back and let out a wordless wail, which echoed off the cave walls, an outpouring of all his love and anguish. Then darkness swirled around him and he crouched beside Feathertail in a tight knot of grief. He felt as if all the light in the world had been snuffed out. How could he live with this loss?

Voices drifted past him in the dark: He heard Stormfur, blaming himself for bringing Feathertail back to the Tribe. He turned his head to look up at the RiverClan cat. “It’s my fault.” Crowpaw’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “If I’d refused to come back to the cave, she would have stayed with me.”

“No . . . ,” Stormfur said softly, reaching out to Crowpaw, who could only bow his head.

He could hear Brook and Stoneteller trying to comfort Stormfur, but there would be no comfort for Crowpaw now—maybe not ever.

“The Tribe of Endless Hunting spoke truly,” said Stoneteller. “A silver cat has saved us all.”

Yes, thought Crowpaw, but no cat saved her, and now the Clans will never be the same. Never. The word echoed around Crowpaw until he felt his heart would break. We’ll never be mates or have kits together. I’ll never see her again. Never . . .

Crowfeather woke, shivering. His pelt was soaked with early-morning dew, but that wasn’t the reason for the chill that struck deep within him. It had been countless moons since Feathertail had died killing Sharptooth, but in his dream it had felt as if it were happening all over again. The pain of losing Feathertail felt like a fresh wound.

I thought I would never love another cat, he thought. And yet now . . .

He glanced down at the small tabby-and-white she-cat who was curled up beside him underneath the thornbush. His grief for Feathertail had consumed him, and it had taken him many moons to find the path that would lead him out of darkness. Now he could not understand how Leafpool had made her way into his heart, filling him with more joy than he had ever hoped to feel again.

Like Feathertail, she was a cat from another Clan. But unlike Feathertail, Leafpool was a medicine cat, and had vowed never to take a mate. This made their love even more impossible than his first. I certainly know how to make things complicated, Crowfeather thought with a wry twitch of his whiskers. The only way he and Leafpool could be together was to make a huge sacrifice—to leave the Clans and everything they had ever known.

But they had decided to take the risk. Amazingly, Crowfeather thought, watching Leafpool’s chest rise and fall, we could have had a future together.

Leafpool had come with him willingly, heading out into unknown territory. But then, the night before, they had met the wise badger Midnight, who had told them that savage badgers were gathering to attack the Clans. The battle would be fierce and bloodstained; cats would die. Leafpool had said nothing about returning, and neither had he, but as he watched her sleeping form, Crowfeather knew what she would say to him when she woke. Her dedication and her loyalty to ThunderClan were part of why he loved her.