Tigerclaw's Fury, Page 2

  “Never!” roared Tigerclaw. He woke with a start, breathless and writhing on his back. His belly burned like fire and his claws were unsheathed, clogged with dirt. He crawled out from beneath the wooden den into a cool, pale dawn. How many days had he lain here? One? Two? More? His vision blurred for a moment, and he shook his head to clear it. His mouth was as dry and sore as if he had swallowed feathers, so he limped over to a puddle that lay in a muddy rut close to the fence. The water was black and brackish, but he forced himself to lap until his throat had stopped hurting.

  A blackbird pecked at the ground farther along the fence. Tigerclaw gathered his haunches beneath him and crept toward the bird, testing each of his legs. He felt weak, but a careful check of his belly showed that the wound had stopped bleeding and the edges were starting to crust over with dark red scabs. As long as he didn’t stretch too much, he should be able to hunt. Better to die from hunting than from letting myself starve.

  As he drew closer to the bird, he stepped onto a heap of pine needles that crackled. The blackbird let out a squawk and flapped noisily into the air. Tigerclaw cursed under his breath and sat down. He licked the ruffled, dusty fur on his chest. It tasted of blood and soil. He spat, then turned and stared into the shadows beneath the wooden den. He’d been aware of rustlings during his restless sleep, the muffled squeaks of mice and a mouthwatering scent in the musty air. It would be a cramped and difficult place to hunt, but no worse than some of the bramble thickets he’d scoured before.

  Crouching low, feeling the wound in his belly strain, Tigerclaw slipped under the den. The soil rose up on the far side, blocking out the light. Tigerclaw headed for the thickest shadows, feeling his whiskers quiver as he picked up the scents of tiny furred creatures. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the half-light, then lunged toward the tiny twin glints that gave away a mouse staring back at him, terrified. There was a satisfying fat crunch under his paws, a high-pitched squeak cut short, and Tigerclaw buried his muzzle in the warm blood and fur of his fresh-kill. He saw no need to thank StarClan for his prey; it was his catch, his alone.

  The mouse sent strength surging through his legs, and Tigerclaw emerged, blinking, into the light, shaking loose soil from his pelt. He squeezed between the wooden posts and set off through the pine trees at an uneven trot, gritting his teeth against the pain in his belly. He was outside ThunderClan scent marks here, but there was precious little undergrowth, so a passing patrol would spot him from a long way off. The tall wooden fences and red stone walls that marked the edge of Twolegplace loomed through the trees. The trunks thinned out and brambles and dense clumps of ferns began tangling around Tigerclaw’s paws. He lowered his head and began sniffing where fronds had been bent back by a passing creature. There! Barely a fox-length from the ThunderClan border, he picked up the acrid, fear-stained scent of the cats who had fought alongside him in the attack.

  Fought? More like turned tail like frightened kits! came the voice in Tigerclaw’s head. You were a fool to trust them! Tigerclaw flattened his ears. I had no choice! But now that I am free from my bonds to ThunderClan, things will be different.

  Stepping carefully through the thick grass, Tigerclaw followed the scents along the very edge of Twolegplace. Splashes of blood left a visible trail, and he hoped the cats were not too badly wounded. He didn’t have time to nurse anyone. These pitiful creatures were weak enough already. He kept one ear pricked toward ThunderClan territory, listening for a patrol. The sun was high overhead, the shadows at the foot of the Twoleg boundary barely wide enough to conceal him. Tigerclaw guessed that his former Clanmates would be resting after morning patrols, sharing fresh-kill before setting out again. His belly growled at the thought of food, but he forced himself to keep going. He wouldn’t be caught taking prey that belonged to ThunderClan!

  The rumble of the Thunderpath drifted through the trees, and the scent of scared cats was muffled by the stench of monsters and their foul black breath. Tigerclaw forced his way into a solid clump of brambles, guessing that if he were frightened and wounded, he’d seek the thickest cover. He stiffened as he heard tiny whispers ahead of him.

  “Keep still! Someone’s coming!”

  “Has a ThunderClan patrol found us? We can’t stay here and be trapped like rabbits!”

  “Hush! They’ll hear us!”

  Tigerclaw burst through the wall of thorns with a yowl. Five pairs of eyes stared at him in horror. Then, one by one, they blinked and lost the sheen of terror.

  “Tigerclaw!” meowed a scrawny brown tom. “You survived!”

  “No thanks to you, Clawface,” Tigerclaw snarled.

  “We were going to come back for you once our wounds had healed,” protested a broad-shouldered white tom with one black forepaw. His name was Blackfoot, and like Clawface, he had been a ShadowClan warrior loyal to their leader, Brokenstar, before he had been taken prisoner and his followers driven out of the Clan.

  Two other former ShadowClan warriors, a brown tabby named Stumpytail and a gray-and-brown she-cat called Tangleburr, stood up and stepped alongside Tigerclaw to brush their tails against him.

  “I’m so pleased to see you,” purred Tangleburr, but the row of fur pricking along her spine told Tigerclaw that she was lying. All of these cats, including the former stray Snag, a huge ginger tom who lingered at the back of the makeshift den, watching with wary amber eyes, were terrified to see Tigerclaw risen from the dead. They knew they had failed him, had let themselves get beaten by a bunch of queens and elders in an unguarded camp. Tigerclaw breathed in their fear-scent and felt a thrill of satisfaction. These cats would do anything he wanted. He forced his long claws to stay sheathed, pushed down the urge to rip their ears for leaving him to face his former Clanmates alone. These were the only allies he had for now, and while they were scared of him, and in his debt, he could shape them exactly as he wanted.

  He looked around. “Where’s Mowgli?” He had found the green-eyed, brown tom among the loners in Twolegplace, spotting at once the potential in his sleek muscles and hard, unflinching gaze. Tigerclaw had vowed to make Mowgli a senior warrior if he fought alongside him, and the brown tom had lapped up his promises as hungrily as any forestborn cat.

  Stumpytail shrugged. “I don’t know. He got his ears clawed pretty harshly by that brown ThunderClan apprentice—Brackenpaw, I think he’s called. We haven’t seen him since.”

  Tigerclaw curled his lip. Beaten by an apprentice? He hoped he hadn’t been wrong about Mowgli. Clearly he needed more training, more encouragement to fight to the limits of his strength, even if his opponent still had kitten fluff around his ears.

  Clawface limped forward with a scrap of fur and meat in his jaws. He dropped it at Tigerclaw’s feet. “I caught this mouse earlier,” he mewed. “You can have the rest if you want.”

  Tigerclaw eyed the pathetic piece of fresh-kill. Would he be showing weakness if he admitted to his hunger and ate it? Or should he take advantage of these cats offering to feed and shelter him? What would a Clan leader do?

  Bluestar would look for the weakest elder and give them the fresh-kill, purred the voice. But is that the kind of leader you want to be?

  Tigerclaw bent his head and devoured the mouse loin in a single bite. He looked up, swiping his tongue around his lips. “We’ll need more than that to survive. Who is the least wounded among you?”

  Tangleburr raised her tail. “I have a bite on my flank, but it’s healing fast.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And Snag’s fur was thick enough to save him from any deep scratches.”

  The loner padded out of the shadows. “I’ll hunt if you want,” he rumbled.

  Tigerclaw nodded. “Good. You two, bring back at least two pieces each of fresh-kill.”

  Tangleburr’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Well done, you’re learning, thought Tigerclaw. The two cats threaded their way out of the brambles.

  “Tigerclaw, your belly seems to be bleeding,” mewed Blackfoot hesitantly. He stretched out
his neck and sniffed at the sticky scarlet fur on Tigerclaw’s side.

  “It’s nothing,” snapped Tigerclaw. “It’ll heal in a couple of days.”

  Blackfoot stepped back. “Those ThunderClan cats fought more fiercely than I expected,” he admitted. Beside him, Clawface nodded. “Especially that so-called kittypet, Fireheart,” Blackfoot went on. “He may have been born in Twolegplace, but he’s sure learned how to fight like a warrior.”

  “He is a kittypet!” Tigerclaw spat. “Don’t ever speak of him as a warrior. He has no right to be in the forest, no right to speak to Bluestar as if the blood of the Clans runs in his veins.” He turned away and paced in a tight circle, flicking his tail. “I will find more cats, and teach you how to fight properly, and then we will take on ThunderClan again and Fireheart will die!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Tigerclaw opened his eyes to thin gray light filtering between the brambles. It was not quite dawn, but the air was warm and stuffy from the sleeping cats around him. Moving carefully in order not to disturb Clawface, who was pressed against his spine, Tigerclaw eased himself up and stepped out of the thicket. The Thunderpath was silent and the forest smelled clear and green. He peered through the trees, recognizing even in the half-light which trunks held the border marks for ThunderClan’s territory. He felt his fur start to rise as he pictured Fireheart curled in the warriors’ den, dreaming of victory. Sleep peacefully while you can, kittypet.

  There was a crackle of leaves behind him and Snag appeared, shaking dust from his thick pelt. “Have you spotted a patrol?” he asked.

  “No, it’s too early.” Tigerclaw turned and looked toward the Thunderpath, just visible between the tree trunks. “We can’t stay here. We don’t want to attract attention from ThunderClan, and we need more space for hunting. Wake the others. We’ll leave now, before the dawn patrols begin.”

  Snag vanished back into the brambles, leaving Tigerclaw alone in the woods where he had been born. I will come back, he vowed. But only when I am strong enough to crush Fireheart and ThunderClan along with him.

  Tangleburr was yawning as she pushed her way out of the brambles, but as soon as she saw Tigerclaw her mouth snapped shut and she lifted her head. “Where are we going?”

  Tigerclaw flicked his tail toward the Thunderpath. “We’ll cross over and skirt the edge of ShadowClan until we reach the wild part of the forest.”

  Stumpytail looked alarmed. “What if a patrol catches us? We won’t be welcome inside ShadowClan’s borders!”

  “The sun hasn’t risen yet. There won’t be any patrols around,” meowed Blackfoot.

  Tigerclaw led the cats through the long grass between the edge of the trees and the smooth black Thunderpath. The river of stone was silent, still reeking of monsters but damp with dew, making it quite cool and pleasant to walk on. The cats trotted across and plunged into the grass on the far side. None of them said a word as they entered the close-growing pine trees. Tigerclaw saw Blackfoot’s fur stand on end, and Clawface’s eyes stretch wide as he scanned for hostile former Clanmates. But the woods were as silent here as they had been on the other side of the Thunderpath. The cats crept undisturbed along the fences and walls of Twolegplace until they reached a tangled clump of ancient trees with thick glossy leaves and drooping purple-and-scarlet blooms.

  “This is the farthest corner of the territory,” Clawface whispered. “These bushes came from Twolegplace, and they’re so difficult to get through that ShadowClan uses them as a defense against the wild part of the woods.”

  “They’ll protect us just as well,” mewed Tigerclaw. “There must be some way through.”

  Blackfoot walked along the foot of the branches, which dipped close to the ground. “There is a way,” he muttered. “I got through once when I was an apprentice.”

  Tangleburr twitched her ears. “You were lucky you made it back! Who knows what could have happened to you on the other side.”

  Snag blinked. “It’s just more trees,” he meowed. “What were you imagining? A Clan of foxes and badgers, waiting to rip your fur off?”

  Tangleburr flicked her tail. “I was a loyal ShadowClan warrior,” she huffed. “It wasn’t my business to know what went on beyond the Clan boundaries.”

  “Well, that’s changed, hasn’t it?” growled Tigerclaw. “Come on.” Brushing past Blackfoot, he climbed over a gnarled silver branch and wriggled into the center of the tree. He couldn’t see through the dense leaves to the other side, but there was a surprising amount of room among the twisted trunks. He heard the others follow him, and continued to scramble forward, ignoring the tearing pains in his belly. Soon he was surrounded by shiny leaves again, but he forced a way through and plunged into clear space on the other side. The wild part of the woods stretched out in front of him, looking more like ThunderClan than ShadowClan territory, with ancient moss-clad oaks and dappled ash trees rather than straight rows of pine.

  The other cats lined up beside him, panting. “So, this is our territory now,” murmured Clawface.

  Blackfoot pricked his ears. “That fallen tree over there looks as if it could be a den,” he meowed. He bounded over the mulch-covered ground, leaping twigs and clumps of fungus growing in the damp soil. He vanished behind the fallen oak for a moment, then reappeared on top of the trunk. “It’s perfect!” he yowled. “Come and see!”

  Tigerclaw followed the others as they ran like excited kits to explore the oak tree. Finding shelter wasn’t a challenge. Even hunting would be easy here, with nothing but the occasional bold kittypet for competition. They needed to begin battle training as soon as possible—and Tigerclaw needed to find others to join them, because he wasn’t going to trust victory to these few cats again.

  When he reached the far side of the fallen tree, Tangleburr and Stumpytail were already dragging ivy out of a scoop in the ground. “This will make a great nest,” meowed Tangleburr through a mouthful of trailing vines.

  Snag trotted around the dying branches of the tree. “There’s a puddle of water here,” he announced. “It tastes fresh enough.”

  Blackfoot looked at Clawface. “Shall we hunt, and get started on a fresh-kill pile?”

  Clawface nodded, but Tigerclaw stepped forward and stopped him in his tracks. “This isn’t a game of mini-Clans,” he warned. “You don’t think I’ve given up on taking over ThunderClan? Bluestar is weaker than she has ever been, and she weakens the whole Clan by putting so much faith in a kittypet. As soon as we are strong enough, we will attack again!”

  There was a flash of uncertainty in the other cats’ eyes, and Tigerclaw noticed Blackfoot glance at his belly, as if the white tom was concerned that Tigerclaw’s wound would never heal enough to let him go into battle. Are you sure these cats know that you are in charge? whispered the voice in his head. If they don’t believe that they need you as much as they need food and shelter, you are nothing to them.

  Tigerclaw unsheathed his claws and let them sink into the soft earth. “Hunt, prepare nests, and make sure we cannot be seen by ShadowClan patrols,” he ordered. “Tomorrow we start our training.”

  “Snag, don’t be afraid to use your weight against your opponent. If he can’t breathe, he’ll be easier to hit.” Tigerclaw put out his paw and nudged Snag forward so that he was hanging over Clawface, who was starting to look worried.

  Stumpytail pricked his ears. “But now Snag is balancing on three paws, so I could knock him over, couldn’t I?” he suggested.

  “Yes, but be careful where he lands. You don’t want to crush Clawface.” Tigerclaw stepped back and watched as Snag swiped his paw down toward Clawface at the same moment Stumpytail barged into his haunches. The big ginger tom lurched sideways with a hiss, leaving Clawface to scramble free on the other side. While Snag was on the ground, the other two cats leaped on him.

  “Much better,” meowed Tigerclaw. He scanned the trees. “Where are Blackfoot and Tangleburr? They should have been back from hunting ages ago.”

  They had been in the wild wood
s for three sunrises. All the cats were healing well now—even Tigerclaw’s wound had stopped oozing whenever he stretched it—and their temporary den had provided good shelter during a couple of heavy rainfalls. The trees were lush and heavy all around them, and hunting was easy as prey came out to eat the seeds and nuts that had been washed down by the rain.

  Stumpytail glanced at Clawface. “They’ll be back soon,” he mewed.

  Tigerclaw pounced on the note of uncertainty in his voice. “Where are they?” he growled.

  “They haven’t crossed the border, I promise,” mewed Clawface, his ears flattened in distress. “But . . . but we’ve been taking turns to patrol on our side, looking for some sign that ShadowClan is all right. We’re worried about our Clanmates. We’ve been here for a while and haven’t heard or seen any border patrols. What if something terrible has happened?”

  Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes. “Why should that matter to you? They are not your Clanmates now.”

  Stumpytail lifted his head. “But they were close to us once. We have not stopped thinking about them just because we no longer live among them.” There was a note of defiance in his words that Tigerclaw appreciated. That kind of loyalty could serve you well, commented the voice inside his head.

  “I’ll go look for them,” he meowed.

  Clawface’s eyes widened. “You won’t punish them, will you?”

  Fear is the key. “That depends on what they have done.” Tigerclaw padded away from the training area, a clear, smooth space defined by a tree stump, a row of brambles, and a tiny, gritty stream. He plunged into the undergrowth and followed a half-flattened trail to the wall of tangled trees. He guessed the former ShadowClan cats wouldn’t spend time patrolling here because it was impossible to see through the dense green leaves, so he trotted along the edge of the barrier until it yielded to more open woodland, where gnarled mossy oaks gave way to tall, whisker-straight pine trees.