Эрин Хантер - Outcast

Concentrating fiercely, Jaypaw tried to pull the newcomers’ feelings into himself as if he was drawing in their scent.

He could sense fear, suspicion, and an overwhelming desperation. It had been difficult for them to come here, yet they’d had no choice.

They need something from ThunderClan!

Before any cat spoke, there was the sound of more cats approaching through the tunnel. It was Stormfur and Brook, with fresh-kill in their jaws.

“Talon! Night!” Brook exclaimed, dropping the vole.

“What are you doing here?”

Cloudtail spoke first, his voice sharp with suspicion. “You mean you know these cats?”

“Firestar, these are the cats we scented near the WindClan border,” Hollypaw broke in, before either of the strangers could reply. “Brambleclaw sent us to warn you about intruders.”

“They’re not intruders.” Leafpool spoke calmly as she emerged from her den, her pelt brushing Jaypaw’s. “They come from the Tribe of Rushing Water.”

Firestar bounded down the rocks that led to his den. “Of course! It’s Talon of Swooping Eagle, isn’t it, and Night of No Stars?”

“That’s right,” a quiet, accented voice replied.

Jaypaw sensed the tension in the clearing begin to relax.

He could make out a few murmurs of recognition coming from the older ThunderClan cats, the ones who had made the Great Journey and stayed with the Tribe of Rushing Water in the mountains.

“I knew I’d seen that black she-cat somewhere before,” Dustpelt muttered.

“I wonder what they want?” Sorreltail asked; she sounded puzzled rather than hostile.

“I suppose we’ll soon find out,” Brackenfur replied. “It must be important, for them to come all this way.”

“Stormfur, Brook.” Firestar spoke again. “Bring your prey over to the fresh-kill pile. You must want to catch up with old friends.”

“It doesn’t look much like it,” Hollypaw whispered into Jaypaw’s ear; she had bounded up to him while he was concentrating on the voices. “Brook seems really upset, and Stormfur looks as if he’s got a bit of crow-food under his nose.”

“He just gave Brook a nudge,” Lionpaw added, padding up in his turn. “She doesn’t want to go near them.”

Jaypaw could tell from his littermate’s paw steps that he was still stiff from his wounds from the fight with Ashfur. Yet he sensed pride coming from Lionpaw, too, as if he knew he had fought well.

“They’re touching noses now,” Hollypaw reported softly.

“But they still look as if—”

Jaypaw didn’t hear the rest of what she said. Suddenly the ground lurched beneath his paws and he felt blood pounding in his ears. The stench of blood was in his nose. Scarlet light washed over him and he realized that he could see.

On every side he was jostled by fighting cats. He could hear their screeching and the slash of claws through fur.

Blood spattered against his pelt, hot and sticky. Underpaw the ground was hard stone; Jaypaw’s claws scrabbled on it as he tried to keep his balance. His paws were splayed across a tilted boulder, sliding slowly downward. He scrambled across a narrow crevice, barely saving himself from being trapped, then caught a glimpse of a sheer drop beneath him and nothing ahead but the open sky, stained bloodred as the sun went down.

Dizzy from the height and the fierceness of the battle, Jaypaw felt as though his paws were frozen to the rock.

Where was he? This was no dream, and yet the clearing by the lake had vanished as if it had never been. He bit back a yowl of terror as the scene flickered; darkness returned, but not the unbroken night of his blindness. He was in a cave, where the noise of falling water echoed from the rocks.

Moonlight shone through a glittering screen of water that covered the entrance.

Cats were sitting all around him, talking to one another in quiet, serious voices. Jaypaw could pick up their scents and recognized those that belonged to the intruders who had just arrived at the camp. They were sitting opposite him: a huge tabby tom and a smaller black she-cat. Movement at the far side of the cave caught his eye, and he spotted a muscular gray warrior rising to his paws. Scent told him that he was looking at Stormfur. So the tabby she-cat with him must be Brook .

Stormfur addressed a stone-gray cat who sat on a boulder at the head of a cave. “It’s no use expecting these cats to leave,” he meowed. “They want to settle here, and they don’t care how much trouble they’re giving us. We have to show them that they must respect our territory.”

“And how do we do that?” another cat asked.

“Hang on, we don’t want any other cats living near us.” It was the tabby tom who spoke. “The mountains are ours.”

“Not anymore, Talon,” Stormfur mewed regretfully.

“We’ll just have to get used to it,” Brook added.

Stormfur dipped his head in agreement. “I suggest—” he began.

The stone-colored cat on the rock twitched his tail. “The Tribe of Endless Hunting has shown me nothing about this,” he protested.

“Then perhaps the ancestors of these new cats walk in different skies.” Stormfur’s tone was respectful, but Jaypaw could sense his frustration, sharp as thorns. “The Tribe is used to driving off stray loners,” the gray warrior continued, “but this is different. We have to find a different way of dealing with them.”

Night, the black she-cat, leaned forward, stretching her neck to look at Stormfur. “What do you suggest?”

“Why ask him?” The question came from a skinny, speckled brown cat crouched near the rippling screen of water. His muzzle was white with age and he had lost an eye. “He’s only just set paw in the mountains. What does he know about our ways?”

“That’s just why we should listen,” Talon snapped back at him. “Stormfur lived where there are many other cats. He must know better than us how to deal with these strangers.”

“That’s right!” a cat called from the shadows.

More cats joined in, some protesting, some encouraging Stormfur, until the whole cave was filled with caterwauling.

Stormfur mewed something softly to Brook, and she touched his shoulder with her nose.

Jaypaw flicked his ears. “Get on with it,” he muttered. “Let him speak.”

Eventually the gray cat on the rock raised his tail for silence. “We will hear what Stormfur has to say,” he announced.

“Thank you, Stoneteller.” Stormfur dipped his head.

Turning to the rest of the Tribe, he hesitated for a heartbeat.

“Where I lived in the forest,” he began at last, “all four Clans knew that they had to stay out of one another’s territory. Cats who trespassed would be driven out.”

“And how do we do that?” the skinny elder demanded.

“These intruders go where they like.”

“We need a show of strength, Rain,” Stormfur explained.

His blue eyes glowed. “One battle should be all it takes. After that, these newcomers will either go away for good, or they’ll stay well away from us.”

To Jaypaw’s surprise, Brook stepped forward to stand beside her mate. In the hollow by the lake, she was always quiet, but now her eyes shone and she held her tail high as she looked around at her Tribemates.

“Stormfur will teach us what to do,” she meowed. “He knows battle moves these strangers can’t even imagine.”

“He’ll likely get us all killed,” the elder called Rain grumbled.

“The Tribe has lived in these mountains for seasons upon seasons,” Brook insisted. “Are we going to leave, just like that?”

Several cries of “No!” came from around the cave. Almost every cat in the Tribe had risen to its paws, its pelt bristling and its teeth bared. Only a few, like the gray elder, stayed where they were, glaring at their Tribemates. Amid the uproar, Stoneteller sat unmoving on his rock. Jaypaw could not read his expression or sense anything of what he felt.