Crowfeather's Trial

Chapter 2

Crowfeather chased a rabbit across the moor, reveling in the feeling of cold wind flowing through his fur, and the strength of his own muscles as they bunched and stretched to propel him effortlessly after his prey. He raced along so fast it felt as if his paws hardly touched the tough moorland grass.

A hole in a bank loomed up ahead, the entrance to one of the tunnels. The rabbit plunged into it, and without hesitating Crowfeather followed. He chased the rabbit down tunnels that twisted far more than he remembered, growing narrower and narrower until he could feel his fur brushing both sides in the blackness.

At last Crowfeather halted, his flanks heaving. He couldn’t scent the rabbit anymore, or hear the scrabble of its paws on the stone floor of the tunnel. Damp cold struck up through his pads, and he realized with the first stirring of panic that the passage was too narrow for him to turn around. He had no idea where he was.

Slowly now, Crowfeather began to pad forward, his heart pounding as he felt water flowing around his paws, growing deeper as he struggled onward.

Cats have drowned down here, he thought.

His belly fur was brushing the water when he spotted a feeble, flickering light ahead of him. Hoping he had found a way out, he waded on more rapidly, until he came to a place where the tunnel wall was scooped out at one side to form a kind of den. Crowfeather’s jaws dropped open with shock and disbelief as he recognized the cat who was sitting there.

“Ashfoot!” he choked out.

His mother sat with her head erect and her tail wrapped around her paws. Crowfeather couldn’t tell where the pale light was coming from. It seemed to radiate from Ashfoot, yet she didn’t have the frosty glitter to her fur that was the mark of a StarClan cat.

As Ashfoot spotted her son, she stood up and fled down the tunnel, her paws seeming to skim the surface of the water.

“Wait!” Crowfeather yowled, splashing clumsily after her. “Don’t leave me! Ashfoot!”

But she was gone, and the light gone with her. Crowfeather was alone in the darkness, with water lapping around his shoulders. “Ashfoot, why are you here?” he asked, as if his mother could still hear him. “Why are you not in StarClan?”

No answer came back, only Ashfoot’s voice raised in a screech that echoed around the tunnel like a roll of thunder. Terror shook Crowfeather from ears to tail-tip, and he startled awake to find himself in the warriors’ den under the stars. He lay panting and trembling as his horrific vision receded.

What was that? Just a dream? Or was what Hootpaw saw in the tunnel entrance truly a ghost… the ghost of Ashfoot? Is she trying to send me a message? As soon as the idea occurred to Crowfeather, he gave his head an angry shake, annoyed with himself for thinking something so mouse-brained. But he couldn’t let go of the idea. If Ashfoot was trying to tell me something, what could it be?

Once more, Crowfeather tried to shrug off the feeling, telling himself not to be a fool. In his dream, Ashfoot’s fur had been gray, just as it was when she was alive, not the shining white Hootpaw had described, and that he had glimpsed for himself at the tunnel.

Besides, it can’t be ghosts, he told himself. Smoky was probably just being stupid.

All the same, Crowfeather still felt shaken to the depths of his belly, and he caught only troubled snatches of sleep before the sky began to pale toward dawn.

The sun had not yet risen when Onestar’s voice rang out commandingly across the camp. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting!”

Crowfeather struggled to his paws to see Onestar perched on top of the Tallrock, his figure outlined against the brightening sky. Harespring and Kestrelflight were standing at the base of the rock.

Is all this really necessary, just to announce who will be going out on the patrol today? Crowfeather wondered, stretching his jaws in a massive yawn. Or was there more the leader needed to say?

Around Crowfeather, more of the warriors were rising from their nests, shaking scraps of moss from their pelts and shivering in the early-morning chill. Crowfeather spotted Nightcloud and Breezepelt padding out into the open to sit side by side near the Tallrock. One of Crowfeather’s forelegs twitched, as if to walk over and sit with them, but then he turned away and took his position on the other side of the group of gathered cats.

They wouldn’t want me to sit with them anyway, he thought, surprised to feel a heaviness in his chest.

Whitetail and Whiskernose emerged from the elders’ den in the disused badger set. “What’s gotten into his fur now?” Whiskernose muttered, pausing to scratch himself vigorously behind one ear. “Whatever it is, couldn’t it wait until the sun’s up?”

All four apprentices scrambled out of their den and plopped themselves down in a furry heap at the edge of the gathering crowd. Crowfeather guessed from their wide eyes and excited looks that they were expecting momentous news, and Oatpaw — Leaftail’s apprentice, who hadn’t been with the hunting patrol on the previous day — looked just as thrilled as the rest.

So much for telling Hootpaw not to talk about it, Crowfeather thought wryly. That featherbrain has probably told all of the apprentices by now.

Sedgewhisker padded to the edge of the warriors’ den and sat down to groom herself, while Emberfoot bounded over to sit beside her. Larkwing was heading over to join them when the other two cats turned a chilling look on her. Crowfeather saw Larkwing veer away and crouch down next to Whiskernose.

I don’t like the look of that, Crowfeather thought. We shouldn’t treat the Dark Forest cats badly — not anymore. It reminded him uncomfortably of the time when he had returned to WindClan after leaving with Leafpool. He had often been on the receiving end of cold looks like that; it had been many moons before all his Clanmates had accepted him again. If they ever did. Maybe it will take just as long for the Dark Forest cats to be considered true Clanmates.

But the meeting was about to start, and Crowfeather had no time to give any more thought to what he had seen.

Onestar’s gaze swept around the camp, checking that all the cats had assembled. “Kestrelflight visited the Moonpool last night, for the half-moon meeting,” he began eventually. “He had a vision there — a vision that both he and I find troubling. Kestrelflight, please tell the Clan what you told me.”

Crowfeather felt a stirring of anticipation as the young medicine cat drew himself up to address the crowd. “Barkface came to me last night in StarClan,” he announced, “and he gave me a vision about the tunnels that lie between our territory and ThunderClan’s.”

Crowfeather was instantly alert, feeling his pads prickle with apprehension. This couldn’t be a coincidence! It had to have something to do with what he and Hootpaw had seen the day before.

Or maybe it’s to do with my dream.

“Barkface showed me the tunnel entrances,” Kestrelflight went on, “and as I watched, I saw dark water gushing out of them in huge torrents, the kind of deluge that could sweep cats away and completely drown a camp.”

As he spoke, anxious murmurs rose from the cats around him. Crowfeather saw many of them exchanging fearful looks. It sounded as if a terrible fate was creeping up on WindClan — as if they were being stalked by some huge predator. Crowfeather was just thankful that Barkface, the former WindClan medicine cat, was watching over them. At least StarClan is giving us a warning.

“At first,” Kestrelflight continued, “a wild wind kicked up and drove the water back. But eventually the wind dropped, and the water kept on rushing and gushing out into a second huge wave until it swallowed up everything.” The mottled gray tom winced at the memory. “The sound of it was unbearably loud.”

Crowfeather suppressed a shiver as he remembered the horrible moment in his dream when he had stood alone in the dark tunnel with water up to his shoulders.

“But what does it mean?” Emberfoot called out from where he sat beside Sedgewhisker.

Kestrelflight hesitated a moment before replying. “I think it means something dangerous is lurking in the tunnels,” he mewed eventually. “The way the wind controlled the water suggests that WindClan can win this conflict. But the wind also dropped suddenly. Perhaps that means it will be a tough battle.”

For a moment the WindClan cats gazed at one another in silence. Then a sudden clamor broke out, cats calling out ideas of what the vision might mean and then arguing with one another’s suggestions. Onestar yowled for silence, but no cat was listening.

“The tunnels did flood before.” Weaselfur’s voice rose above the rest. “Maybe it’s going to happen again.”

Now the Clan was silent, pondering his words. After a moment Harespring meowed, “You could be right. But I — and the rest of the patrol who were with me yesterday — scented something weird at the tunnel entrances. And Hootpaw saw—”

“Ghost cats!” Hootpaw interrupted, leaping to his paws with his shoulder fur bristling. “I saw ghost cats!”

The apprentice stood tall, his chest puffed out. Crowfeather guessed that even though he was scared, Hootpaw was enjoying the attention and the feeling of importance his announcement gave him. Nightcloud was giving him an annoyed glance, as if she didn’t like to see her apprentice showing off in a Clan meeting.

I’m not a medicine cat, but I can see tick duty in Hootpaw’s future, Crowfeather thought with a wry snort of amusement.

Yowls of disbelief and confusion greeted Hootpaw’s words, while Onestar flicked his tail in irritation. “Very well,” he snapped. “Hootpaw, tell the Clan what you think you saw.”

“A ghost cat!” Hootpaw responded, his eyes round with awe. “It was all white and glowing, and it stared at me like it wanted to give me a message.”

“A message for you?” Whiskernose sniffed dismissively. “Why would it give a message to an apprentice?”

“And what was the message?” Gorsetail asked.

Hootpaw gave his chest fur an embarrassed lick. “It didn’t say. It just vanished into the tunnel again.”

Heathertail let out a mrrow of amusement. “Or maybe it sprouted wings and flew away?”

“It did not!” Hootpaw exclaimed indignantly. “I know what I saw. And Crowfeather saw it, too.”

Crowfeather tensed so as not to shrink backward as every cat turned their gaze toward him. “I caught a glimpse of something,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t a ghost cat. There’s no such thing as ghost cats.”

To his dismay, many of his Clanmates were looking scared, as if they believed what Hootpaw had told them. They didn’t seem to share his denial of ghosts. Instead they were exchanging nervous glances, their eyes wide with dismay as they murmured doubtfully to one another.

Do they all have bees in their brain? Crowfeather wondered.

“Do you think it could be the Dark Forest cats?” Crouchfoot asked, his voice quivering. “Could they have come back, to get revenge?”

“Of course not,” Whiskernose asserted with a contemptuous flick of his tail. “Dark Forest cats wouldn’t come back as white, would they? White is sort of like StarClan. These must be cats who fought on our side! Kestrelflight, not every cat who died in the Great Battle has been seen in StarClan yet, right?”

Though Kestrelflight was looking definitely uneasy with all these suggestions, he shook his head. “No, they haven’t,” he replied.

“So maybe there’s a way to bring them back!” Larkwing suggested excitedly.

Annoyance prickled Crowfeather’s pelt as if a whole Clan of ants were crawling through it. “Dead cats don’t come back,” he snapped. “Except for leaders who have lives left. For StarClan’s sake, Larkwing, don’t you understand death?”

The pale brown tabby drew back her lips and hissed at him, but then looked away, saying nothing more. Crowfeather instantly felt guilty; the young she-cat was obviously having a tough time in the Clan, and he hadn’t meant to make it worse. Great StarClan, she was only an apprentice at the time of the Great Battle. She hardly knew how to groom her own fur!

“In any case,” Onestar meowed, raising his tail to draw his Clan’s attention to him, “it wasn’t a ghost cat! But there are animals who might have gone to live in the tunnels and could be threats to us. Prey has been scarce for a while in that part of the territory, and that suggests we’re dealing with something real.”

“Good point,” Crouchfoot murmured, looking slightly happier.

“So I’ve decided to send a patrol to explore the tunnels and see what they find,” Onestar went on. “Meanwhile, we all need to be careful. If there are hostile creatures living there, we must be ready to fight.”

“Of course we are!” Heathertail called. “We’re warriors!”

Onestar nodded. “Harespring will lead the patrol,” he announced. “Are there any volunteers to go with him?”

For a moment no cat answered; they only murmured among themselves and exchanged doubtful glances.

“If we might be fighting Dark Forest ghost cats,” Crouchfoot muttered, “then we should send Breezepelt.”

Crowfeather glanced across at his son and saw that his face wore the wounded, angry look that was so familiar now. Clearly Crouchfoot’s words had hurt him.

But Crowfeather also knew that this was a challenge Breezepelt would not want to meet. As a young cat, he had been caught in a flood that had raged in the tunnels, and he had been terrified of them ever since.

Crowfeather felt a pang of sympathy for him and was about to open his jaws to defend his son when, to his surprise, Breezepelt stepped forward, his chest puffed out proudly. “Yes,” he meowed. “I will go.”

Onestar looked impressed, dipping his head toward Breezepelt. “There speaks a true WindClan warrior,” he announced to the others.

How about that. Crowfeather was surprised to see Breezepelt volunteering for such a dangerous task — and a little bit impressed. But from elsewhere around the Tallrock came murmurs of disapproval; clearly not all the cats agreed with their leader’s praise.

The murmurs were silenced as Nightcloud stepped forward beside her son. “I’ll go too,” she stated.

Crowfeather caught a glance exchanged between his former mate and their son: hers protective and motherly, his thankful. He huffed out his breath, trying to ignore the pain like a piercing thorn at the sight of the love and trust between them. Neither one of them ever felt that way about me.

When Breezepelt was a kit, Nightcloud had been so overprotective. Maybe because he’d been the only one of their litter to survive. But Crowfeather couldn’t do anything right. He was too rough when he tried to play with him, or he was too strict. And now look how Breezepelt has turned out! Crowfeather thought sadly. Irritable, defensive, angry…

Crowfeather suddenly realized that Onestar was speaking to him. “Is that all right with you, Crowfeather?”

Mouse-dung. Now what have I missed? “I’m sorry?” he mewed, trying to look attentive.

“I said, I want you to join the patrol,” Onestar responded. “After all, you saw this strange animal as well. Furzepelt and Heathertail will go, too.”

Stifling a growl, Crowfeather nodded agreement. It made sense that he would be chosen to join the patrol, as he was the only cat besides Hootpaw who had seen anything. But from the look Onestar was giving him, he sensed there was more to it than that.

That mouse-brain wants to force me to spend more time with Breezepelt.

Glancing at Nightcloud and Breezepelt, Crowfeather could see they both looked distinctly unimpressed at the idea of his joining them. The memory of his horrific dream of Ashfoot came surging back into his mind, and he admitted to himself that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be going back into the tunnels, either.

This is going to be just great.

When the meeting was over, Harespring sent out the dawn patrol and the usual hunting patrols, though he left out the six cats who had been chosen to go to the tunnels. At sunhigh they gathered with their Clanmates around the fresh-kill pile to eat before they set out. Crowfeather crouched to gulp down a mouse, half turned away from his son and his former mate.

“I think there may be rats in the tunnels,” Gorsetail mewed between mouthfuls of vole. “And maybe what Hootpaw saw was a snow-white cat — a kittypet — going in after them.”

“So you don’t think the cat was a ghost, then?” Leaftail asked.

Gorsetail’s gray-and-white tail curled up in amusement. “Well, if it wasn’t a ghost then, it may be one now! Only a kittypet would be mouse-brained enough to try fighting a whole colony of rats by without backup.”

“But isn’t that sort of what we’re doing?” Slightpaw asked; Crowfeather noticed how confident the young cat seemed among a group of warriors. “We’re only sending six cats, and who knows how many… whatever… there are down there.”

“We’re sending six of our best cats,” Onestar pointed out. “I trust WindClan warriors to defeat anything that might be in the tunnels!”

Slightpaw nodded, accepting what his Clan leader told him, though Crowfeather spotted some of the others exchanging dubious glances.

They’re probably suspicious of Breezepelt, he thought. He had to admit to himself that he wasn’t sure how his son would react when he had to go down deep into the tunnels. If the darkness stirred up Breezepelt’s old fears, Crowfeather hoped that he wouldn’t give in to panic. That would embarrass both of us.

“I sort of hope we do see ghost cats,” Heathertail mewed wistfully. “I’d like to see the cats we lost in the battle — it’s usually only medicine cats who get to talk with the warriors of StarClan.”

“But it wasn’t ghost cats,” Onestar reminded her gently.

“That’s true,” Kestrelflight added. “Don’t you think that if there were, the medicine cats would know about it?”

“But just suppose our Clanmates did return as ghosts,” Larkwing murmured. “What would we say to them, do you think?”

“I’d say we were sorry,” Whitetail responded. “Sorry that they never got to live out their lives as members of their Clan.”

“I’d tell them we loved them,” Leaftail added softly.

The other cats’ eyes were filled with sorrow, and their heads and tails were drooping. Crowfeather became aware of a great tide of grief and loss surging through his Clanmates. His own lost ones came back into his mind, with pain sharper than a badger’s claws.

Ashfoot… and Feathertail… and Leafpool. She isn’t dead, but she’s lost to me, just as if she were.

“That’s enough,” Onestar meowed as the murmurs of regret continued. “We must not look back, or we could drown in our grief. Perhaps that is what Kestrelflight’s vision is about.”

“But how do we avoid grief?” Whitetail asked. “Our loss is all around us.”

“We look forward,” Onestar responded, his voice full of determination. Glancing across at Crowfeather, he added, “First we figure out what is really in the tunnels.”

Crowfeather looked back at his Clan leader and gave him a single nod. Even though they both shared doubts over Hootpaw’s claims of seeing ghost cats, Crowfeather knew that Onestar was happy to have a clear task. A patrol to establish the safety of their borders after the Great Battle might be just the thing that would restore calm to WindClan.