by Erin Hunter
Contents
Cats of the Mountains
Maps
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgements
The Sun Trail: Bonus Scene
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Other Books in This Series
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
CATS OF THE MOUNTAINS
TRIBE-HEALER
TELLER OF THE POINTED STONES (STONETELLER)—old white she-cat with green eyes
QUIET RAIN—speckled gray she-cat
GRAY WING—sleek, dark gray tom with golden eyes
CLEAR SKY—light gray tom with blue eyes
BRIGHT STREAM—brown-and-white tabby she-cat
SHADED MOSS—black-and-white tom with dark green eyes
TALL SHADOW—black, thick-furred she-cat with green eyes
DAPPLED PELT—delicate tortoiseshell she-cat with golden eyes
RAINSWEPT FLOWER—brown tabby she-cat with blue eyes
TURTLE TAIL—tortoiseshell she-cat with green eyes
MOON SHADOW—black tom
DEWY LEAF—tortoiseshell she-cat
TWISTED BRANCH—brown tom
SHATTERED ICE—gray-and-white tom with green eyes
CLOUD SPOTS—long-furred black tom with white ears, white chest, and two white paws
STONE SONG—dark gray tabby tom
HOLLOW TREE—brown tabby she-cat
QUICK WATER—gray-and-white she-cat
HAWK SWOOP—orange tabby she-cat
FALLING FEATHER—young white she-cat
JACKDAW’S CRY—young black tom
SHARP HAIL—dark gray tom
MISTY WATER—very old gray she-cat, with milky blue eyes
LION’S ROAR—very old golden tabby tom
SILVER FROST—old gray-and-white she-cat
SNOW HARE—old white she-cat
FLUTTERING BIRD—tiny brown she-cat
JAGGED PEAK—gray tabby tom with blue eyes
Maps
Cold gray light rippled over the floor of a cave so vast that its roof was lost in shadows. An endless screen of water fell across the entrance, its sound echoing from the rocks.
Near the back of the cavern crouched a frail white she-cat. Despite her age, her green eyes were clear and deep with wisdom as her gaze traveled over the skinny cats swarming the cave floor, restlessly pacing in front of the shimmering waterfall: the elders huddled together in the sleeping hollows; the kits mewling desperately, demanding food from their exhausted mothers.
“We can’t go on like this,” the old she-cat whispered to herself.
A few tail-lengths away, several kits squabbled over an eagle carcass. Its flesh had been stripped away the day before as soon as their mothers had caught it. A big ginger kit shouldered a smaller tabby away from the bone she was gnawing at.
“I need this!” he announced.
The tabby sprang up and nipped the end of the ginger kit’s tail. “We all need it, flea-brain!” she snapped as the ginger tom let out a yowl.
A gray-and-white elder, every one of her ribs showing through her pelt, tottered up to the kits and snatched the bone away.
“Hey!” the ginger kit protested.
The elder glared at him. “I caught prey for season after season,” she snarled. “Don’t you think I deserve one measly bone?” She turned and stalked off, the bone clamped firmly in her jaws.
The ginger kit stared after her for a heartbeat, then scampered, wailing, to his mother, who lay on a rock beside the cave wall. Instead of comforting him, his mother snapped something, angrily flicking her tail.
The old white she-cat was too far away to hear what the mother cat said, but she sighed.
Every cat is coming to the end of what they can bear, she thought.
She watched as the gray-and-white elder padded across the cave and dropped the eagle bone in front of an even older she-cat, who was crouching in a sleeping hollow with her nose resting on her front paws. Her dull gaze was fixed on the far wall of the cave.
“Here, Misty Water.” The gray-and-white elder nudged the bone closer to her with one paw. “Eat. It’s not much, but it might help.”
Misty Water’s indifferent gaze flickered over her friend and away again. “No, thanks, Silver Frost. I have no appetite, not since Broken Feather died.” Her voice throbbed with grief. “He would have lived, if there had been enough prey for him to eat.” She sighed. “Now I’m just waiting to join him.”
“Misty Water, you can’t—”
The white she-cat was distracted from the elders’ talk as a group of cats appeared at the entrance to the cave, shaking snow off their fur. Several other cats sprang up and ran to meet them.
“Did you catch anything?” one of them called out eagerly.
“Yes, where’s your prey?” another demanded.
The leader of the newcomers shook his head sadly. “Sorry. There wasn’t enough to bring back.”
Hope melted from the cats in the cave like mist under strong sunlight. They glanced at one another, then trailed away, their heads drooping and their tails brushing the ground.
The white she-cat watched them, then turned her head as she realized that a cat was padding up to her. Though his muzzle was gray with age and his golden tabby fur thin and patchy, he walked with a confidence that showed he had once been a strong and noble cat.
“Half Moon,” he greeted the white she-cat, settling down beside her and wrapping his tail over his paws.
The white she-cat let out a faint mrrow of amusement. “You shouldn’t call me that, Lion’s Roar,” she protested. “I’ve been the Teller of the Pointed Stones for many seasons.”
The golden tabby tom sniffed. “I don’t care how long the others have called you Stoneteller. You’ll always be Half Moon to me.”
Half Moon made no response, except to reach out her tail and rest it on her old friend’s shoulder.
“I was born in this cave,” Lion’s Roar went on. “But my mother, Shy Fawn, told me about the time before we came here—when you lived beside a lake, sheltered beneath trees.”
Half Moon sighed faintly. “I am the only cat left who remembers the lake, and the journey we made to come here. But I have lived three times as many moons here in the mountains than I did beside the lake, and the endless rushing of the waterfall now echoes in my heart.” She paused, blinking, then asked, “Why are you telling me this now?”
Lion’s Roar hesitated before replying. “Hunger might kill us all before the sun shines again, and there’s no more room in the cave.” He stretched out one paw and brushed Half Moon’s shoulder fur. “Something must be done.”
Half Moon’s eyes stretched wide as she gazed at him. “But we can’t leave the mountains!” she protested, her voice breathless with shock. “Jay’s Wing promised; he made me the Teller of the Pointed Stones because this was our destined home.”
Lion’s Roar met her intense green gaze. “Are you sure Jay’s Wing was right?” he asked. “How could he know what was going to happen in the future?”<
br />
“He had to be right,” Half Moon murmured.
Her mind flew back to the ceremony, so many seasons before, when Jay’s Wing had made her the Teller of the Pointed Stones. She shivered as she heard his voice again, full of love for her and grief that her destiny meant they could never be together. “Others will come after you, moon upon moon. Choose them well, train them well—trust the future of your Tribe to them.”
He would never have said that if he didn’t mean for us to stay here.
Half Moon let her gaze drift over the other cats: her cats, now thin and hungry. She shook her head sadly. Lion’s Roar was right: Something had to be done if they were to survive.
Gradually she realized that the cold gray light in the cave was brightening to a warm gold, as if the sun were rising beyond the screen of falling water—but Half Moon knew that night was falling.
At her side Lion’s Roar sat calmly washing his ears, while the other cats in the cave took no notice of the deepening golden blaze.
No cat sees it but me! What can it mean?
Bathed in the brilliant light, Half Moon remembered how, when she first became Healer, Jay’s Wing had said that her ancestors would guide her in the decisions she must make—that, sometimes, she would see strange things that meant more than they first appeared. She had never been directly aware of her ancestors, but she had learned to look out for the signs.
Possible meanings rushed through Half Moon’s mind, thick as snowflakes in a blizzard. Maybe the warm weather is going to come early. But how would that help, when there are so many of us? Then she wondered whether the sun was really shining somewhere else, where there was warmth and prey and shelter. But how would that help us, up here in the mountains?
The sunlight grew stronger and stronger, until Half Moon could barely stand to look into the rays. She relaxed as a new idea rose in her mind.
Maybe Lion’s Roar is right, and only some of us belong here. Maybe some of us should travel toward the place where the sun rises, to make a new home in the brightest light of all. Somewhere they will be safe, and well fed, with room to nurture generations of kits.
As Half Moon basked in the warmth of sunlight on her fur, she found the certainty she needed within herself. Some of her cats would remain, a small-enough group for the mountains to sustain, and the rest of her Tribe would journey toward the rising sun, to find a new home.
But I won’t leave the cave, she thought. I will see out the twilight of my days here, a whole lifetime away from where I was born. And then maybe . . . just maybe . . . I’ll find Jay’s Wing again.
Gray Wing toiled up the snow-covered slope toward a ridge that bit into the sky like a row of snaggly teeth. He set each paw down carefully, to avoid breaking through the frozen surface and sinking into the powdery drifts underneath. Light flakes were falling, dappling his dark gray pelt. He was so cold that he couldn’t feel his pads anymore, and his belly yowled with hunger.
I can’t remember the last time I felt warm or full-fed.
In the last sunny season he had still been a kit, playing with his littermate, Clear Sky, around the edge of the pool outside the cave. Now that seemed like a lifetime ago. Gray Wing only had the vaguest memories of green leaves on the stubby mountain trees, and the sunshine bathing the rocks.
Pausing to taste the air for prey, he gazed across the snowbound mountains, peak after peak stretching away into the distance. The heavy gray sky overhead promised yet more snow to come.
But the air carried no scent of his quarry, and Gray Wing plodded on. Clear Sky appeared from behind an outcrop of rock, his pale gray fur barely visible against the snow. His jaws were empty, and as he spotted Gray Wing he shook his head.
“Not a sniff of prey anywhere!” he called. “Why don’t we—”
A raucous cry from above cut off his words. A shadow flashed over Gray Wing. Looking up, he saw a hawk swoop low across the slope, its talons hooked and cruel.
As the hawk passed, Clear Sky leaped high into the air, his forepaws outstretched. His claws snagged the bird’s feathers and he fell back, dragging it from the sky. It let out another harsh cry as it landed on the snow in a flurry of beating wings.
Gray Wing charged up the slope, his paws throwing up a fine spray of snow. Reaching his brother, he planted both forepaws on one thrashing wing. The hawk glared at him with hatred in its yellow eyes, and Gray Wing had to duck to avoid its slashing talons.
Clear Sky thrust his head forward and sank his teeth into the hawk’s neck. It jerked once and went limp, its gaze growing instantly dull as blood seeped from its wound and stained the snow.
Panting, Gray Wing looked at his brother. “That was a great catch!” he exclaimed, warm triumph flooding through him.
Clear Sky shook his head. “But look how scrawny it is. There’s nothing in these mountains fit to eat, and won’t be until the snow clears.”
He crouched beside his prey, ready to take the first bite. Gray Wing settled next to him, his jaws flooding as he thought of sinking his teeth into the hawk.
But then he remembered the starving cats back in the cave, squabbling over scraps. “We should take this prey back to the others,” he meowed. “They need it to give them strength for their hunting.”
“We need strength too,” Clear Sky mumbled, tearing away a mouthful of the hawk’s flesh.
“We’ll be fine.” Gray Wing gave him a prod in the side. “We’re the best hunters in the Tribe. Nothing escapes us when we hunt together. We can catch something else easier than the others can.”
Clear Sky rolled his eyes as he swallowed the prey. “Why must you always be so unselfish?” he grumbled. “Okay, let’s go.”
Together the two cats dragged the hawk down the slope and over the boulders at the bottom of a narrow gully until they reached the pool where the waterfall roared. Though it wasn’t heavy, the bird was awkward to manage. Its flopping wings and claws caught on every hidden rock and buried thornbush.
“We wouldn’t have to do this if you’d let us eat it,” Clear Sky muttered as he struggled to maneuver the hawk along the path that led behind the waterfall. “I hope the others appreciate this.”
Clear Sky grumbles, Gray Wing thought, but he knows this is the right thing to do.
Yowls of surprise greeted the brothers when they returned to the cave. Several cats ran to meet them, gathering around to gaze at the prey.
“It’s huge!” Turtle Tail exclaimed, her green eyes shining as she bounded up to Gray Wing. “I can’t believe you brought it back for us.”
Gray Wing dipped his head, feeling slightly embarrassed at her enthusiasm. “It won’t feed every cat,” he mewed.
Shattered Ice, a gray-and-white tom, shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. “Which cats are going out to hunt?” he asked. “They should be the first ones to eat.”
Murmurs came from among the assembled cats, broken by a shrill wail: “But I’m hungry! Why can’t I have some? I could go out and hunt.”
Gray Wing recognized the voice as being his younger brother, Jagged Peak’s. Their mother, Quiet Rain, padded up and gently nudged her kit back toward the sleeping hollows. “You’re too young to hunt,” she murmured. “And if the older cats don’t eat, there’ll be no prey for any cat.”
“Not fair!” Jagged Peak muttered as his mother guided him away.
Meanwhile the hunters, including Shattered Ice and Turtle Tail, lined up beside the body of the hawk. Each of them took one mouthful, then stepped back for the next cat to take their turn. By the time they had finished, and filed out along the path behind the waterfall, there was very little meat left.
Clear Sky, watching beside Gray Wing, let out an irritated snort. “I still wish we could have eaten it.”
Privately Gray Wing agreed with him, but he knew there was no point in complaining. There isn’t enough food. Every cat is weak, hungry—just clinging on until the sun comes back.
The pattering of paws sounded behind him; he glanced around to see Bright S
tream trotting over to Clear Sky. “Is it true that you caught that huge hawk all by yourself?”
Clear Sky hesitated, basking in the pretty tabby she-cat’s admiration. Gray Wing gave a meaningful purr.
“No,” Clear Sky admitted. “Gray Wing helped.”
Bright Stream gave Gray Wing a nod, but her gaze immediately returned to Clear Sky. Gray Wing took a couple of paces back and left them alone.
“They look good together.” A voice spoke at his shoulder; Gray Wing turned to see the elder Silver Frost standing beside him. “There’ll be kits come the warmest moon.”
Gray Wing nodded. Any cat with half an eye could see how friendly his brother and Bright Stream had become as they stood with their heads together murmuring to each other.
“More than one litter, maybe,” Silver Frost went on, giving Gray Wing a nudge. “That Turtle Tail is certainly a beautiful cat.”
Hot embarrassment flooded through Gray Wing from ears to tail-tip. He had no idea what to say, and was grateful when he saw Stoneteller approaching them. She took a winding path among her cats, pausing to talk to each one. Though Stoneteller’s paws were unsteady because of her great age, Gray Wing could see the depth of experience in her green gaze and the care she felt for every one of her Tribe.
“There’s still a bit of the hawk left,” Gray Wing heard her murmur to Snow Hare, who was stretched out in one of the sleeping hollows, washing her belly. “You should eat something.”
Snow Hare paused in her tongue-strokes. “I’m leaving the food for the young ones,” she replied. “They need their strength for hunting.”
Stoneteller bent her head and touched the elder’s ear with her nose. “You have earned your food many times over.”
“Perhaps the mountains have fed us for long enough.” It was Lion’s Roar who had spoken from where he sat, a tail-length away.