The Blazing Star (6 page)

Gray Wing watched as the silver-gray tom disappeared into the darkness. Thorn, Dew, and Nettle from Clear Sky's group were watching him too, and—to Gray Wing's surprise—so was Dappled Pelt, with something in her gaze that he couldn't quite account for.

Dragging his attention back to the debate over the spirit-cats' message, Gray Wing noticed that Thunder wasn't making any contribution. He was too busy looking at the strange she-cat who had just spoken, his whiskers twitching bashfully.

The she-cat padded over to him—her gaze fixed as if she saw no other cat—and stood in front of him, her tail flicking slowly to and fro.

“I've been dying to meet you,” she purred. “I've heard so much about you on the moor: what a great leader and fighter you are.”

As he listened, Thunder's chest puffed up with pride. He opened his jaws to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if he had no idea what to say.

The she-cat waited for a moment, then turned and padded away, glancing back to shoot a final glance at Thunder from luminous green eyes before she vanished into the undergrowth. Thunder couldn't tear his gaze away.

Gray Wing felt a rumble of laughter rising in his throat.
Thunder might be a big, strong leader of cats,
he thought,
but in other ways he's still very young.

C
HAPTER
5

Clear Sky paused beneath an arching
clump of ferns, and took in a long breath of the cool morning air. Since the first visit from the spirit-cats, there was no need to patrol his boundaries anymore, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the forest in the dim light of dawn. And since the second visit from the spirit-cats the night before, he wanted time to ponder their message.

The Blazing Star. Could it be the sun?
Clear Sky wondered, padding onward through the undergrowth, the dew-laden grasses brushing his pelt.
But no
—
how could any cat use the sun as a weapon?

Deep in thought, he didn't realize at first how far his paws were taking him, until he caught a familiar acrid tang at the back of his throat, and heard a distant rumble.

The Thunderpath!

Clear Sky halted, then turned back toward his own camp, his fur bristling.
I certainly don't want to go there!

The harsh reek of monsters faded, but Clear Sky's nose twitched as he picked up another scent. There was a cat in the forest—one he didn't recognize—and as the scent gradually strengthened he realized it was drawing closer to him.

Every hair on Clear Sky's pelt prickled with suspicion.
Is this
a sneak attack?
But the strange cat was moving too clumsily for that; Clear Sky could see the tops of the ferns waving as the cat blundered forward, making no attempt at quiet.

Clear Sky hesitated a heartbeat longer, then leaped up into the nearest tree and crouched on a low branch, half-hidden by a clump of leaves.

A moment later a ginger tom emerged from the undergrowth and started sniffing around the roots of the tree. Now that he was so close, Clear Sky's belly turned over at the stench that was rising from him.

A kittypet—and one he had seen before, slinking through the forest with some kits.

Clear Sky waited until the tom turned to pad away, then rose to his paws and took a pace farther along the branch, into the open. “You again! What do you want here?” he demanded.

The kittypet reared back in alarm, then crouched to the ground, laying his ears back. “My name is Tom. I—I don't mean any harm,” he stammered. “I've been wandering around in the forest for a while, and I noticed the cats are forming into . . . groups.”

Clear Sky twitched his ears. “And?”

“I like the sound of that,” Tom went on. “Cats working together, helping each other to find shelter and prey. It's got to be much better than working alone, scrounging for scraps while hoping it doesn't rain too hard. I was wondering if . . . well, if your group might have room for one more?”

Clear Sky studied the ginger tom closely. He wasn't entirely convinced by the kittypet's speech or his cringing manner. “I can see the marks on your neck where you wore your Twoleg
collar,” he meowed. “And your round belly. You must have had a few
easy
meals lately.”

Tom gave his chest fur a couple of quick licks. “I once lived with Twolegs,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I've since returned to the wild.”

“Returned?” Clear Sky challenged him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “All right, not ‘returned' exactly. This is my first time living in the wild. But it feels like I'm returning . . . to my
real
home.”

Clear Sky let out a snort of laughter. “Oh, I feel
so
sorry for you! It must have been hard, living in the warm and dry of a Twoleg den when your spirit was craving the cold, wet, and hunger of the wild!”

Studying Tom afresh, Clear Sky noticed that his pelt did look a bit ragged in places. Though he still had the stench of Twolegs on him, it was believable that he had been living like a real cat for a little while. But Clear Sky was still reluctant to take in a kittypet, especially when he remembered what had happened with Bumble.

Leaping to the ground, Clear Sky kept a wary distance from Tom while padding around him to size him up.

“So can I come and live with you?” Tom asked. “I've heard about your survival tactics, and I think I could work the same way.”

Instantly suspicious, Clear Sky narrowed his eyes as he gazed at Tom. “What have you heard?” he demanded sharply.

Tom hesitated, as if he sensed Clear Sky's tension. “Well . . . that you make tough decisions when it's necessary.”

“Times have changed,” Clear Sky responded, wondering if
Tom was referring to his behavior before the battle. “All the cats live peacefully now. Really, there's no particular reason to join a group of cats. You should be able to survive pretty well on your own.”

Tom twitched his ears. “True,” he mewed. “But I can also bring benefits to your group.”

“What would those be, exactly?” Clear Sky asked, his interest piqued. What could a kittypet offer
real
cats?

“I may not be as skilled at hunting as you,” the ginger tom replied. “But I can learn quickly. And I have my own ways of fighting.” He studied his paws, and Clear Sky couldn't decide if he looked modest or guilty. “I know how to fight with cunning,” he added.

“Do you mean fight dirty?” Clear Sky asked sharply.

Tom didn't reply. Instead he looked up at Clear Sky with wide, pleading eyes. “There is much that I can teach you, I promise. Won't you take me in?” he begged.

Guilt throbbed through Clear Sky. Facing the truth about himself, he knew that he had caused so much unhappiness in the past.
Perhaps it's time to make amends.

“Okay,” he meowed. “You can come back to the camp with me, if you think you can prove yourself. But I'm warning you: We can't support any cat who doesn't contribute.”

Tom puffed out his chest, his expression suddenly proud and happy. “You won't regret this,” he promised. “We won't let you down.”

Clear Sky, who had turned away and taken a couple of paw steps back toward his camp, halted and turned back again. “‘We'?”
I agreed to take in one cat,
he thought, his pelt beginning
to prickle with anger.
Is this ginger flea-pelt trying to cheat me?

Tom let out a pleased
mrrow.
“I have a friend with me.”

As he spoke, there was a loud rattling of twigs and leaves from up above and another cat landed on the ground. Clear Sky fought the urge to leap away, his pelt crawling at the thought that the newcomer had been lurking in the very tree where he had hidden to keep an eye on Tom—and he'd had no idea the cat was there.

They must have been following me. They arranged this meeting!

Sizing up the new arrival, Clear Sky realized that he had never seen a rogue like this before. The fur that covered his scrawny body was knotted and his claws were broken. One eye was missing, and in the one that remained was a look that was pure wild. He paid no attention to Clear Sky, but circled on the spot, hissing and spitting as if he was facing a whole group of enemy cats.

“This is One Eye,” Tom announced proudly. “He's the bravest rogue cat in the whole forest.” When Clear Sky didn't respond, Tom added, “He may look like a sick, skinny old thing on his last legs, but he's the perfect addition to your group. You won't have to worry about being attacked with him around. I invited him here today—”

Tom broke off with a screech of pain as One Eye pounced onto his back, digging his jagged claws in. Jerking away, he turned a shocked stare on One Eye as the rogue jumped down again. “What was that for?” he asked.

“I can speak for myself!” One Eye hissed.

Clear Sky thought that Tom was right to look shocked.
What is he thinking, hanging around like this?

Tom sat down and started to groom his pelt, his pride clearly ruffled. Meanwhile, Clear Sky watched One Eye as he circled languidly, his tail high in the air. He was becoming more and more intrigued to hear what the rogue had to say for himself.

“I remember this forest when all the trees were saplings,” One Eye began. “I lived here before any of your group were even born.”

So how old is he?
Clear Sky asked himself.
If he's as old as these trees, he should hardly be able to walk!

While Clear Sky was trying to decide how to respond, One Eye whipped around and confronted him. “Are you the leader, then?” he asked.

Surprised by the direct question, Clear Sky raked the ground with his forepaws. “Well . . . of this part of the forest, yes.”

“Then you're the cat I want to speak to,” One Eye continued. “Tom's told me all about you. I'm here to offer my services to your group of cats, and trust me, this is
not
an offer that you want to turn down.”

Momentarily stunned, Clear Sky was acutely aware that he had to take control of this situation. “What do you think you can bring to my group?” he asked.

One Eye looked thoughtful for a moment. Before he could reply, the sound of fluttering wings in the tree above distracted all three cats. A plump pigeon had alighted on the lowest branch.

“Excuse me,” the mangy rogue drawled.

With a massive leap he hurled himself into the tree,
his claws sinking into the body of the pigeon. It struggled wildly, its feathers falling like snow, then went limp. One Eye thumped back to the ground and dropped the prey at Clear Sky's paws as if shaking dirt from his fur.

“Will that do?” he asked.

Clear Sky gazed down at the dead bird, impressed in spite of himself.

“I'll show you my hunting and fighting techniques anytime you like,” One Eye offered.

“We don't need to learn any fighting techniques,” Clear Sky retorted sharply. “Just the hunting skills will do.” For a few heartbeats he hesitated, then added, “Have either of you ever heard of the Blazing Star?”

One Eye and Tom glanced at each other. Tom shook his head, but after a moment One Eye muttered, “It could be a plant.”

It could be anything,
Clear Sky thought, disappointed not to have discovered any useful information.
I guess it was a bit of a long shot.

“Okay. You can follow me back to camp,” he meowed to One Eye and Tom, some instinct telling him it was better to have these cats as friends rather than enemies.

But as Clear Sky turned to head toward home, One Eye padded ahead of him, leading the way as if he already knew where the camp was. The pigeon dangling from his jaws, Tom brought up the rear.

Why do I feel as though they always knew they'd be coming back with me?
Clear Sky thought. There was more to these cats than they were letting on.