by Erin Hunter
Thunderstar remembered now. He had been told that Windstar had been hurt, badly. Her medicine cat, her daughter Moth Flight, had taken her to the Moonstone. There, StarClan had healed her and given her nine lives, so that she could lead and protect her Clan. He had traveled to the Moonstone himself, with Cloud Spots, and cats from StarClan—dead cats he had known and loved, including his almost-forgotten mother and his beloved mentor Gray Wing—had appeared and each given him a life.
But he had not seen Windstar die and come back to life. He had believed what StarClan told him, but he had never seen a cat come back from the dead.
“I don’t know if it’s true,” he mumbled. “I hope it is, but I don’t know for sure.” His heart ached. “If I die and I don’t come back, Violet Dawn will be alone.” I’ll never meet my kits.
He felt his deputy’s tail fall across his back. “I believe it’s true,” Lightning Tail said quietly. “You’ve been the best leader I could have asked for, the strongest cat I know. StarClan will save you.”
The world was growing dim before Thunderstar’s eyes. “If I was a good leader,” he whispered, “it’s only because I had you to rely on. I could never have formed ThunderClan without you.”
There was no answer from Lightning Tail. The world was being eaten up by a thick gray nothingness, like fog. Thunderstar blinked slowly, and shadows crept in, the gray replaced by darkness.
When Thunderstar blinked his eyes open again, he found himself in a sunny clearing. Birds were singing overhead, and the air was rich with prey-scent. Leaves rustled in the trees around him. He struggled to his feet and stretched experimentally. Nothing hurt.
Fur brushed against his, and he realized Lightning Tail was beside him. The two cats looked at each other, their eyes wide.
“How did we get here?” Thunderstar wondered. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but it’s nice, isn’t it?” Lightning Tail said. He flicked his tail and turned around, sniffing the air. “No dogs.”
“We have to figure out how to get to ThunderClan from here,” Thunderstar said, then hesitated. “No, we still need to get rid of those dogs. We’ll have to go back.” His heart sank at the idea.
“Yes, Thunderstar, you have to go back,” a quiet voice mewed from behind them.
Thunderstar spun around. A sleek dark gray tom had emerged from the forest and was watching them with calm golden eyes.
“Gray Wing!” Thunderstar gasped. Joy shot through his pelt. It was his foster father, the cat who had raised him. And he was no misty silver spirit cat, but as solid and real as he had ever been. Thunderstar rushed toward him and rubbed his cheek against Gray Wing’s. Lightning Tail, who had known Gray Wing all his life, who had been taught to hunt by the older cat when he was just a kit, ran toward him, too, touching his nose to Gray Wing’s in greeting.
“What’s going on?” Thunderstar said. “Where are we?”
Gray Wing flicked his tail. “Don’t you know?”
An idea occurred to Thunderstar, but he pushed it away. It wasn’t possible.
But Gray Wing was dead. Thunderstar had seen him die, gasping for breath as the illness he had fought for so long finally claimed him.
“You seem well,” he said tentatively, ignoring Gray Wing’s question for now. “You’re not sick anymore?”
Gray Wing’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “No cat is sick here,” he said. “And prey never runs short, and there are no dangers to guard against.”
Lightning Tail sat down abruptly, as if his legs had given out under him. “We’re in StarClan? We’re dead, then.”
Gray Wing tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said. “And no. Lightning Tail, you can join StarClan now. Hunt with us, walk with your friends in a forest where there is nothing to fear. Your parents, Jackdaw’s Cry and Hawk Swoop, are here, and they will be so glad to see you.”
Lightning Tail’s eyes glistened with emotion. Thunderstar knew how Lightning Tail had mourned his parents, killed in the first battle between the cats before the Clans were formed.
Gray Wing went on. “But Thunderstar, you have to go back. Your next life is about to begin.”
“What?” Thunderstar burst out. “I get to be alive again, and Lightning Tail has to stay dead? That’s not fair! He only died because he saved me.” A new thought struck him. “And he didn’t have to, did he? I would have come back to life?”
Gray Wing shook his head. “If you hadn’t escaped those dogs, they could have killed you again and again. Lightning Tail truly did save you.” He looked at the black cat proudly. “And there is nothing more important than protecting the cats you love.”
Lightning Tail stepped toward Thunderstar, his green eyes shining. “StarClan gave you nine lives for a reason. ThunderClan needs its leader. You must go on. You’ll be a good father to your kits and keep looking after your Clan.”
“But I can’t do it without you,” Thunderstar pleaded. Lightning Tail had been beside him every step of the way, since they were kits together. “You’re my deputy. You’re the only one I can trust to help me lead.”
“I expect I’ll be watching over you from StarClan,” Lightning Tail replied, glancing at Gray Wing, who nodded. “And you’ll find the right cat to be your new deputy. But I will always be right beside you, Thunderstar.”
Thunderstar opened his mouth to protest again, but it was too late. He felt as if he was rushing forward, even though he wasn’t moving. The pleasant sunny clearing whirled dizzyingly around him, and then everything went dark.
Thunderstar blinked his eyes open. He felt groggy, as if he was waking from a deep sleep, and refreshed, as if it had been the best sleep of his life. It was almost dark, evening sliding into night. Where was he?
Memories began to come back to him: the dogs, the chase. He climbed to his feet. Nothing hurt now. Had he died? Had StarClan brought him back? As soon as he thought it, he knew, with a deep certainty, that it was true. He almost purred with excitement.
Then the last of his memories fell into place, and he froze, horrified. The dogs caught us both. Lightning Tail. Where is Lightning Tail?
Looking around, he saw Lightning Tail on the ground to his right, a bit farther away than he remembered. Is he alive? He whispered his friend’s name, approaching slowly.
Lightning Tail wasn’t breathing. Thunderstar nosed gently at his face, but he was cold and stiff. Already, he smelled wrong.
A great pain shot through Thunderstar’s chest. It wasn’t fair. He was alive but brave Lightning Tail was dead.
Night had fallen, and it was dark, except for the light of the half-moon above them. Thunderstar lay down beside the body of his deputy, their fur touching. Tonight, he would not sleep. He would not leave Lightning Tail alone, not yet. He would keep his Clanmate company for one last night. He would hold vigil and watch over his friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the sun rose, Thunderstar got to his feet, stretching wearily. He had spent the night lying close beside Lightning Tail, remembering his deputy. They had always been together; when they were kits, the older cats had joked that they were a storm in the making. It seemed so unfair that Lightning Tail was dead and Thunderstar alive.
Thunderstar looked down at Lightning Tail’s body. He looked peaceful at least, his bright green eyes closed and his strong body at rest. Thunderstar, too, felt more at peace than he had the night before. Spending the night watching over his friend one more time had been the right thing to do.
But now it was time to bury Lightning Tail and return home. He would have to carry the news to ThunderClan that their much-loved deputy was dead.
“No,” Thunderstar said, realizing. He couldn’t go home, not yet. Lightning Tail had died trying to protect their Clan, and their job wasn’t finished. Thunderstar was going to have to find a way to stop the dogs before they invaded ThunderClan’s territory again. He couldn’t let them hurt any more of his Clanmates.
The sun was climbing higher every moment that he hesitated.
The more time that passed, the more likely it was that the dogs would escape through that hole again.
Lightning Tail needed to be buried, but he would have wanted Thunderstar to wait until their mission had been accomplished. Thunderstar couldn’t bear to leave him exposed, though—he knew there were birds that fed on the dead.
Clumps of long grass grew nearby, and Thunderstar bit through some stalks and spread them over Lightning Tail’s body, concealing it. There. That would have to do for now.
“I’ll be back,” he said softly, and turned toward the strange Twolegplace once more.
He would take a different route this time, he decided, just in case the dogs were tracking them. Skirting the open stretch of land they had run over yesterday, Thunderstar walked up a gradual incline, until he was looking down on the field of dead monsters from a hill above them. There was a good-sized rock perched at the top of the hill, and Thunderstar leaped onto it to get a better look.
As he watched, the door of the Twoleg dwelling opened and the four dogs raced out, barking and yelping. Thunderstar stiffened: He could see the place where the hole in the silver strands was from here. Would the dogs come through it? Would they see him? He shuddered.
But there was an angry shout from inside the dwelling and the dogs hesitated, then turned to cluster around the door. One of the Twolegs came out, shoving the dogs out of the way before dropping something in front of them. They rushed forward and appeared to be eating—their Twoleg must have given them food.
What could Thunderstar do? The problem was the hole. If it wasn’t there, the dogs would never be able to venture back to the forest. But blocking it with stones and brambles clearly wouldn’t have worked, even if they had finished. The dogs had broken through their pile of rocks so easily. . . . They hadn’t had the time, or the strength, to make a real barrier. And without Lightning Tail, everything would be twice as hard and take twice as long.
What if I had one really big stone, one big enough to cover the hole? Thunderstar’s tail twitched with excitement. He and Lightning Tail hadn’t been strong enough to move a stone that big. But he was sitting on one—and it was on a hill, directly upslope from the hole. What if he could roll it down? He jumped off the stone so he could inspect it more clearly.
Looking at the base of the stone, Thunderstar felt hopeful for the first time since he had lain down by Lightning Tail’s body. The earth below the stone was wet and muddy, soft from the days of rain. He scooped away some earth from in front of the stone with his paw: It wasn’t set too deeply. He could feel the stone’s edge just a few paw-lengths below.
He quickly dug more dirt from in front of the stone. After a bit of digging, the stone tilted dangerously forward. Thunderstar jumped back quickly, but the stone stilled again.
He ran around behind it. The edge of the stone was sticking up from the earth. If I can get something underneath on this side, maybe I can get it to start rolling. Thunderstar looked around. A stick, maybe.
He found a thick, long branch beneath a nearby tree and wedged one end beneath the stone. This would be easier if I wasn’t alone, he thought, with a pang of sorrow. Would he miss Lightning Tail at every turn from now on? Thunderstar threw his weight against the far end of the branch. Gradually, the stone tipped farther and farther forward.
At last it fell, leaving a gaping muddy pit behind, and began to roll down the hill. Excited, Thunderstar jumped over the pit to watch the stone’s progress. The hill was steep here, and the stone picked up speed as it rolled toward the Twoleg dwelling.
It was working! Thunderstar began to run after the stone as it tumbled. Could it be this easy?
But the stone must have hit a branch or rock, because it veered off course suddenly. Wobbling, it rolled a bit farther, then fell over with a thump.
No! Thunderstar ran to the stone. It had fallen on its side, its muddy edge now up in the air. There was no space to get a stick under it here, and even if he could start it rolling again, its path would no longer take it toward the hole in the fence. He put his paws on the stone, testing its weight, but he couldn’t shift it at all, not even with all his strength.
I have to think of something else. Keeping low, Thunderstar approached the strange Twolegplace from downwind. With luck, the dogs wouldn’t see him coming.
They weren’t eating anymore. They were sprawled in the sunshine between the dead monsters. Thunderstar looked at them with fear and hatred. The largest one’s eyes were closed, while one of the others was beating its stubby tail in a steady rhythm against the ground. They were peaceful now, enjoying the sun’s warmth while Lightning Tail was dead. Thunderstar shut his eyes for a moment as another wave of sorrow washed over him.
A Twoleg yowled something, sharp and angry, and Thunderstar’s eyes shot open. Had it spotted him? No, he could see that the door to the Twoleg den was open, but the Twolegs must be inside. There was no sign of them among the monsters.
They were unpleasant Twolegs, Thunderstar thought, and he was almost sure they had no idea the dogs could sneak out through the fence whenever they wanted. If the dogs were supposed to guard the dead monsters, the Twolegs wouldn’t want them wandering off.
If the Twolegs had patrolled their territory properly, they would have seen the hole, but Thunderstar had always heard that Twolegs were lazy and unobservant. But what if he could show the Twolegs the hole?
Thunderstar realized what he would have to do. Standing up, he swallowed hard and began to walk closer to the Twolegplace. His paws were heavy and reluctant. These dogs had already killed him once.
Stopping outside the barrier, Thunderstar put a paw against the silver strands. They had sharp barbs on them like thorns, but he saw that he could clamber up the fence without touching those, if he was careful. What if the dogs saw him before he’d done what he had to do? He would have to be fast.
He walked to another part of the fence, closer to the door of the Twoleg den. The closer he was to the Twolegs when he started, the better. As he slipped one paw onto a strand, he was already looking for another smooth spot. He climbed, at first hesitantly, then more quickly as he realized the silver thorns appeared in a pattern, each the same distance away from the others. He kept his ears pricked: Surely the dogs would bark if they spotted him.
Thunderstar reached the top and balanced for a moment on the topmost strand, which swayed beneath his feet. The door to the Twoleg den was straight ahead of him. The dogs were farther away, and the bodies of several monsters lay between them and Thunderstar. This might work. He took a deep breath and leaped down into the place of the dead monsters.
Landing lightly just in front of the open Twoleg door, Thunderstar wrinkled his nose in disgust at the scents that surrounded him: the strange smell of Twolegs, the rank smell of the dogs. And over everything, the reek of Thunderpaths. It must come from the dead monsters, he thought, and it was so strong here that the dogs carried the scent with them wherever they went.
He could hear the Twolegs moving about inside their den. Bracing himself, Thunderstar opened his mouth and let out the loudest yowl he could. He had to get their attention.
There was a crash as something fell inside the Twoleg place, then a startled voice. Almost at the same time, there was a chorus of angry barks. Still yowling, Thunderstar took off, running away from the dogs, around the Twoleg den.
Please let the Twolegs come out to see what’s happening. Please let them care what the dogs do.
He could hear Twoleg footsteps and excited voices. They must be coming out. But he could hear the snarling dogs much closer, their paw steps getting louder. Thunderstar whipped around another corner of the Twoleg dwelling and leaped up onto a dead monster.
It was hard and surprisingly hot under his paws. What if it’s not dead? But no, it was completely still beneath him; the body must simply have soaked up the warmth of the sun.
Paws scrabbled against one end of the dead monster as the largest dog tried to haul himself up onto it. Thunderstar risked a glance over
his shoulder. The Twolegs were running around the corner, not far away. Now was his chance. Thunderstar leaped from the back of the monster and shot toward the hole in the fence.
It was wide enough for him to pass through easily, but as he sped through it, something scratched his shoulder. One of the brambles Lightning Tail and I put there, he realized with another pang of sorrow. He kept running, expecting at every moment to feel fangs ripping through his pelt.
But as he streaked up the hill, he realized that he couldn’t hear the dogs behind him. And he was only a few tail-lengths from the safety of the trees now. He was going to make it. With a long leap, he dug his claws into the trunk of a tall ash tree and scrambled up to the highest branch that would support his weight.
His heart was pounding in his chest and he was gasping for breath, but he was safe for now. Climbing farther out onto the branch, he looked back at the Twolegplace.
The dogs had not chased him through the hole. Instead, the Twolegs were each holding on to two dogs’ collars as they spoke, pointing at the hole. After a while, one of the Twolegs spoke sternly to the dogs until they were all sitting; then he went into the Twoleg den and came back out with a new length of silver strands. With many harsh noises, he began to fit it across the hole.
It worked, Thunderstar thought, dizzy with relief. The Twolegs hadn’t known the dogs were getting out through the hole in the fence, and now that Thunderstar had shown them, they were fixing the hole.
If this had happened yesterday, he would have been happy about it, but right now he could only feel surprise at his success and a sort of grim satisfaction. He had done what he and Lightning Tail had set out to do. Thunder Clan would be safe.
Jumping down from the tree, Thunderstar padded back toward where his friend was waiting for him.
Nothing had disturbed the place where Lightning Tail lay. Thunderstar brushed the long grass away from his friend’s body and looked down at him.
“It’s done,” he said softly. “We protected our Clan.”