Эрин Хантер - Outcast

Stoneteller’s scent! Jaypaw picked up the faint trace on the cave floor and followed it toward the back of the cave, where a gap opened up. He slid through it and along a narrow tunnel until the movement of air and the faint echoes of his paw steps told him that he had emerged into another cave.

A wisp of chill wind told him that it was open to the sky, at least partly. Padding forward, his paw splashed in a puddle of water and he drew back sharply, shaking it in disgust. He brushed against stone and explored it with one paw; it jutted from the cave floor like a tree trunk. The air was filled with strange, whispering echoes, voices that were too faint to make out, like those he had heard in the waterfall.

Then a clearer voice spoke. “Jaypaw, welcome to the Cave of Pointed Stones.”

Jaypaw froze. He had been too intent on his investigations to wonder what would happen if Stoneteller found him here.

This was the Healer’s private place, he could tell, like a Clan leader’s den. But there was no point in pretending he wasn’t there.

“Thank you, Stoneteller.”

He heard the sound of paw steps and imagined the old tabby padding toward him. When Stoneteller’s voice came again it was close to his ear.

“This is where I share tongues with the Tribe of Endless Hunting. They send me signs through the shimmer of stars and moon in the water, the dance of light and shadow on the stones that rise from the floor and jut down from the roof, the echoes of wind, water, and paw steps.” His voice rose and fell, unlike normal speech, then dropped to a low murmur.

“Yet now they send no signs that promise relief for my Tribe.”

Jaypaw had lost respect for Stoneteller when the old cat had lied about the message from the Tribe of Endless Hunting. But he couldn’t ignore the Healer’s age and wisdom or the sharp sense of betrayal Stoneteller felt as he faced the destruction of his Tribe.

“Our ancestors have no help to offer,” Stoneteller went on.

“It is as though they don’t care that we are dying.”

Jaypaw wasn’t sure if Stoneteller was really talking to him.

He was speaking as if to a much older cat, one who might have wisdom to share with him.

“Clan cats look to StarClan,” Jaypaw began hesitantly. “Yet not even StarClan is all-powerful. Perhaps the Tribe of Endless Hunting doesn’t know how to help you.”

“Then why did they bring us here?” Stoneteller rasped.

“They promised us we would be safe.”

Jaypaw’s ears pricked. What did Stoneteller know about the beginnings of the Tribe?

“Where did you live before?” he asked. “Why did you have to leave and come here?”

Stoneteller sighed, his breath riffling Jaypaw’s whiskers. “I do not know. It was many seasons, many lifetimes ago. The Tribe of Endless Hunting has not told me this.”

Every hair on Jaypaw’s pelt prickled. So the Tribe hadn’t always lived in the mountains! Perhaps the Tribe of Endless Hunting was so helpless because they were convinced they had been wrong, and the mountains were not the right place to bring these cats. He clawed the damp floor with his forepaws. If only he knew the whole truth, not just these tantalizing scraps!

“What do the signs say tonight?” he asked Stoneteller.

“Very little,” the Healer replied. “The moon shines on the water, but—there!—a cloud drifts over it, as if all our hopes are blotted out. The echoes tell me nothing, but over there wind ruffles the surface of a puddle, and that means change.”

He sighed again, sounding unutterably weary. “What the change may be, I do not know. I will sleep now. Good night, Jaypaw.”

“Good night.” Jaypaw heard the old cat’s paw steps retreating, and then a scuffling sound as if he was making himself comfortable in a mossy nest. He stood listening as the sounds died away, trying to make some sense of the echoes in the cave, but they told him nothing.

Padding to the side of the cave, he found a dip in the ground. It was bare stone, with no comfortable lining, but he curled up in it, knowing that only in dreams would he find the answers to his questions.

Jaypaw closed his eyes and woke once more on the jutting outcrop of rock with the wind flattening his fur along his sides. Rock sat on a boulder facing him. Moonlight glistened on his hairless body and his bulging sightless eyes seemed fixed on Jaypaw.

“These are not your ancestors,” he mewed, before Jaypaw could speak. “Be careful.”

“I am careful,” Jaypaw retorted. “And I have to do something! The Tribe of Endless Hunting has given up on the Tribe. They’re not doing anything to help.”

“But your Clanmates are,” Rock replied.

“But that’s not right!” Jaypaw protested, twitching his tail tip in confusion. “Isn’t it the responsibility of warrior ancestors to look after their descendants? Otherwise what use are they?”

Rock said nothing, but Jaypaw sensed great sadness coming from him. Curiosity clawed at him again. Why should Rock feel so concerned about the Tribe cats? And why will no cat tell me anything?

He let out a yowl of frustration as he saw Rock’s figure beginning to fade. For a heartbeat Jaypaw saw him as a shimmer against the rocks; then he was gone, dissolved into wind and starlight. He bounded forward and found himself scrabbling in the hollow in the Cave of Pointed Stones, where he had fallen asleep.

“Mouse dung!” he spat.

Scent told him that time had passed and Stoneteller had left the cave. Jaypaw rose to his paws and gave himself a quick grooming. His dreams still clung to his mind like stubborn cobwebs, and he felt that he might be able to find his own answers once he had time to think.

But the time was not now. He could hear faint caterwauling in the distance; his muscles tensing with the anticipation of disaster, he located the passage and pattered down it until he reached the main cave. The noise grew louder, wails and yowling that almost drowned out the noise of the waterfall.

As Jaypaw stepped into the cavern, the stench of blood slapped him in the face like a damp wind.

“What’s going on?” he meowed in alarm.

He tasted the air; the first familiar scent he encountered was Tawnypelt’s. Bounding over to her, he asked, “What happened? Has there been a battle?”

“A fight.” The ShadowClan cat’s voice was terse. “The prey-hunters went out at dawn and brought down an eagle.

Then the trespassers spotted them on their way home and fought them for it.”

“And we lost!” an unfamiliar voice snarled. “Those mange-ridden fleapelts took our prey. It’s all the fault of you Clan cats. You kept the cave-guards here, learning battle techniques .”

The Tribe cat spat out the last words as if they were a curse.

“The techniques you use now wouldn’t help you fight other cats.” Brambleclaw’s voice came from behind Jaypaw and his father’s scent wreathed around him.

“They’d be better than nothing!” the Tribe cat yowled. “My mate was injured today.” His voice shook suddenly. “I don’t even know if she’ll live.”

“I’m sorry,” Brambleclaw murmured. “Jaypaw, will you go and help Stoneteller? He could use another medicine cat.”

“Sure.” Thankful to have something to do at last, Jaypaw located Stoneteller’s scent among all the others and padded across to him, weaving his way among the bodies of injured cats screeching in pain.

“Honestly,” he muttered to himself. “There can’t be more than about six of them, but they’re making enough racket for a whole Clan!”

“Jaypaw.” Stoneteller’s voice was calm and in control. He seemed a lifetime away from the weary, confused cat of the night before. “Chew up this tormentil root and put it on Gray’s wound.”