DAWN

Warriors

The New Prophecy

DAWN

ERIN

HUNTER

COPYRIGHT

HarperCollins Children’s Books

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in the USA by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2006

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2011

Copyright © Erin Hunter 2006

Series created by Working Partners Limited.

Erin Hunter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007419241

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007551026

Version: 2019-10-28

DEDICATION

Special thanks to Kate Cary

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Allegiances

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

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

MAPS

PROLOGUE

Stars glittered coldly on a forest stripped bare by a bitter leaf-fall. Shadows moved through the undergrowth—thin shapes, fur flattened by the chilly evening dew, slipping between the stems like water through reeds. The cats’ pelts did not ripple with muscle as they once had; instead, their fur clung to the bones beneath their thin frames.

The flame-coloured tom leading the silent procession lifted his head and tasted the air. Even though nightfall had silenced the Twoleg monsters, their stench clung to every dying leaf and branch.

The cat took comfort from the scent of his mate beside him; her familiar scent mingled with the hateful Twoleg odur and softened its cruel tang. She matched his pace stubbornly, even though her faltering stride betrayed her long-empty belly and wakeful nights.

“Firestar,” she panted as they padded onward. “Do you think our daughters will find us when they come home?”

The flame-coloured cat flinched as though he had trodden on a thorn. “We can only pray that they will, Sandstorm,” he said softly.

“But how will they know where to look?” Sandstorm glanced back at a broad-shouldered grey tom. “Greystripe, do you think they’ll know where we’ve gone?”

“Oh, they’ll find us,” Greystripe promised.

“How can you be so sure?” growled Firestar. “We should have sent another patrol to search for Leafpaw.”

“And risk losing more cats?” Greystripe meowed.

Firestar’s eyes clouded with pain and he hurried ahead along the shadowy path.

Sandstorm twitched her tail. “This was the hardest decision he’s ever had to make,” she whispered to Greystripe.

“He had to put the Clan first,” Greystripe hissed back.

Sandstorm closed her eyes for a moment. “We have lost so many cats this past moon,” she mewed.

The wind must have carried her voice, because Firestar turned his head, his gaze hardening. “Then perhaps, at this Gathering, the other Clans will finally agree that we must join together to face this threat,” he growled.

“Join together?” A defiant mew sounded from a tabby tom. “Have you forgotten how the Clans reacted last time you said that? WindClan was half-starved, but you might as well have suggested they eat their kits. They are too proud to admit they need help from any cat.”

“Things are even worse now, Dustpelt,” Sandstorm argued. “How can any Clan stay strong when its kits are dying?” Her voice trailed away as she realised what she had said. “Dustpelt, I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Larchkit may be dead,” snarled Dustpelt. “But that doesn’t mean I will let ThunderClan be ordered around by another Clan!”

“No Clan is going to give us orders,” Firestar insisted. “But I still believe we can help each other. Leaf-bare is almost here. The Twolegs and their monsters have driven most of our prey further and further away, and they have poisoned what remains so that it’s not safe to eat. We cannot fight alone.”

Suddenly the whispering of the wind through the branches grew to a roar, and Firestar slowed his step, pricking his ears.

“What is it?” Sandstorm whispered, her eyes stretched wide.

“Something’s happening at Fourtrees!” Greystripe yowled.

He broke into a run, and Firestar rushed after him, closely followed by their Clanmates. All the cats skidded to a halt at the top of a slope, looking down into a steep-sided hollow.

Bright, unnatural lights, sharper than moonshine, blazed against the trunks of the four giant oaks that had guarded this sacred place since the time of the Great Clans. More lights shone from the eyes of huge monsters squatting at the edge of the clearing. The Great Rock—the vast, smooth grey stone where Clan leaders stood to address the Gathering each full moon—looked small and exposed, like a kit crouched on a Thunderpath.

Twolegs scurried around the hollow, shouting at one another. A new sound sliced through the air, a screeching, high-pitched whine, and one Twoleg raised a massive shiny forepaw that flashed in the brilliant lights. The Twoleg pressed it against the trunk of the nearest oak, and dust flew out from the tree like blood spraying from a wound. The shiny forepaw howled as it bit viciously into the ancient bark, pushing deeper into the tree’s heart until the Twoleg cried out a warning and the hollow rang with a crack so loud that it drowned the rumbling monsters. The great oak began to lean over, slowly at first, then faster, faster, until it fell crashing to the ground. Its leafless branches clattered as they struck the cold earth, then stilled into deathly silence.

“StarClan, stop them!” mewed Sandstorm.

There was no sign that their warrior ancestors had seen what was happening at Fourtrees. The stars glittered coldly in the indigo sky as the Twoleg moved on to the next oak, his forepaw screaming for another kill.

The cats watched in horror as the Twoleg worked its way around the clearing until the last oak had been felled. Fourtrees, the place where the four Clans had met for many, many generations, was no more. The four giant oaks lay sprawled on the ground, their branches quivering into stillness. Twoleg monsters snarled at the edge of the clearing, ready to move in to carve up the fresh-kill, but the cats stayed frozen at the top of the slope, unable to move.

“The forest is dead,” murmured Sandstorm. “There is no hope left for any of us.”

“Have courage.” Firestar’s eyes glittered as he turned to face his Clan. “We still have our Clan. There is always hope.”

CHAPTER 1

It was Crowpaw who scented the moorland first as the morning sun spread creamy light over the dew-soaked grass. Although he made no sound, Squirrelpaw saw his ears prick up and sensed him shake off a little of the weariness he had struggled against since Feathertail’s death. The dark grey WindClan cat quickened his pace, hurrying up the slope, where mist still clung to the long grass. Squirrelpaw opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath until she too could taste the familiar scent of gorse and heather on the cold morning air. Then she dashed after him with Brambleclaw, Stormfur, and Tawnypelt following fast behind. They could all smell the moorland scents now; they all knew they were close to the end of their long, exhausting journey.

Without saying anything, the five cats stopped in a line at the edge of WindClan territory. Squirrelpaw glanced at her Clanmate, Brambleclaw, and then at Tawnypelt, the ShadowClan she-cat. Beside her, Stormfur, the grey RiverClan warrior, narrowed his eyes against the cold wind; but it was Crowpaw who stared most intensely at the rough grassland where he had been born.

“We would not have come this far without Feathertail,” he murmured.

“She died to save us all,” Stormfur agreed.

Squirrelpaw winced at the raw sorrow in the RiverClan warrior’s voice. Feathertail was Stormfur’s sister. She had died saving them from a ferocious predator after they had met an unfamiliar group of cats in the mountains. The Tribe of Rushing Water lived behind a waterfall and listened to their own set of ancestors—not StarClan, but the Tribe of Endless Hunting. A mountain cat had been preying on the Tribe for many moons, picking them off one by one. When it had invaded the Tribe’s cavern yet again, Feathertail had managed to dislodge a pointed spur of stone from the roof and send it crashing down to kill the beast. But she had been fatally wounded in the fall, and now she lay beneath rocks in the Tribe’s territory, close by the waterfall with the sound of rushing water to guide her to StarClan.

“It was her destiny,” Tawnypelt commented gently.

“Her destiny was to complete the quest with us,” Crowpaw growled. “StarClan chose her to travel to the sun-drown-place and hear what Midnight had to tell us. She shouldn’t have died for another Clan’s prophecy.”

Stormfur padded to Crowpaw’s side and nudged the WindClan apprentice with his muzzle. “Bravery and sacrifice are part of the warrior code,” he reminded him. “Would you have wanted her to make any other choice?”

Crowpaw stared across the wind-ruffled gorse without replying. His ears twitched as if he were straining to hear Feathertail’s voice on the breeze.

“Come on!” Squirrelpaw bounded forward over the stunted grass, suddenly eager to finish the journey. She had argued with her father, Firestar, before she left, and her paws pricked with nervousness as she wondered how he would react to her return. When she and Brambleclaw had left the forest, they had not told any of the Clan where they were going, nor why. Only Leafpaw, Squirrelpaw’s sister, knew that StarClan had spoken to one cat from each Clan, telling them in dreams to go to the sun-drown-place to hear Midnight’s prophecy. None of them had guessed that Midnight would turn out to be a wise old badger; nor could they have imagined what momentous news she had to share with them.

Crowpaw raced past her to take the lead, knowing the territory better than any of them. He headed towards a swath of gorse and disappeared along a rabbit track with Tawnypelt close behind. Squirrelpaw ducked her head to avoid catching her ears on the prickers as she followed them along the narrow tunnel. Brambleclaw and Stormfur were hot on her heels; she could feel the thud of their paws through the soil.

As the gorse closed around her, memories beat dark wings inside her head, reminding her of the dreams that had been disturbing her sleep—dreams of darkness and of a small space filled with panic and fear-scent. Squirrelpaw was sure these terrifying dreams were somehow connected to her sister. She told herself that now that she was home, she would be able to find out exactly where Leafpaw was—but feeling a fresh wave of alarm, she raced towards the light.

She slowed down when she emerged into an open grassy space. Brambleclaw and Stormfur burst out after her, their fur raked by the sharp gorse spines.

“I didn’t know you were scared of the dark,” teased Brambleclaw, falling in beside her.

“I’m not,” Squirrelpaw objected.

“I’ve never seen you run so fast,” he purred, his whiskers twitching.

“I just want to get home,” Squirrelpaw replied stubbornly. She ignored the glance Brambleclaw and Stormfur exchanged as they padded along beside her. The three cats were trailing behind Tawnypelt and Crowpaw, who had disappeared into a bank of heather.

“What do you think Firestar will say when we tell him about Midnight?” Squirrelpaw wondered out loud.

Brambleclaw’s ears twitched. “Who knows?”

“We’re only the messengers,” meowed Stormfur. “All we can do is tell our Clans what StarClan wanted us to know.”

“Do you think they’ll believe us?” Squirrelpaw asked.

“If Midnight was right, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble convincing them,” Stormfur pointed out grimly.

Squirrelpaw realised that she had thought of nothing except returning home to her Clan. She had pushed from her mind all thoughts of the threat that faced the forest. But her heart twisted with fear at Stormfur’s words, and Midnight’s terrifying warning echoed in her mind: Twolegs build new Thunderpath. Soon they come with monsters. Trees will they uproot, rocks break, the earth itself tear apart. No place left for cats. You stay, monsters tear you too, or you starve with no prey.

Her stomach tightened with dread. What if they were too late? Would there even be a home to return to?

She tried to calm herself by recalling the rest of Midnight’s prophecy: But you will not be without a guide. When return, stand on Great Rock when Silverpelt shines above. A dying warrior the way will show. Squirrelpaw breathed deeply. There was still hope. But they had to get home.

“I smell WindClan warriors!”

Brambleclaw’s yowl jerked Squirrelpaw back to the moorland. “We must catch up with Crowpaw and Tawnypelt!” she gasped. The impulse to face danger side by side with her travelling companions had become so instinctive that she had forgotten Crowpaw was actually WindClan and would not be in any danger from his Clanmates.

She burst out of the heather into a clearing and nearly collided with a scrawny WindClan apprentice. She stopped dead and stared at him in surprise.

The apprentice was a very young tabby, barely old enough to leave the nursery, from the look of him. He was crouching in the center of the clearing with his back arched and his pelt bristling even though he was outnumbered and outsized by Crowpaw and Tawnypelt. He flinched as Squirrelpaw hurtled out of the heather, but bravely stayed where he was.

“I knew I smelled intruders!” he hissed.

Squirrelpaw narrowed her eyes. Did a pathetic scrap like this really expect to take on three full-grown cats? Crowpaw and Tawnypelt looked calmly at the WindClan apprentice. “Owlkit!” Crowpaw meowed. “Don’t you recognise me?”

The apprentice tipped his head to one side and opened his mouth to scent the air.

“I’m Crowpaw! What are you doing out here, Owlkit? Shouldn’t you be in the nursery?”

The young apprentice flicked his ears. “I’m Owlpaw now,” he snapped.

“But you can’t be an apprentice!” Crowpaw exclaimed. “You’re not six moons old yet.”

“And you can’t be Crowpaw,” growled the tabby. “Crowpaw ran away.” But he loosened his battle-ready muscles and padded over to the WindClan cat, who stood calmly while the apprentice sniffed his flank.

“You smell strange,” Owlpaw declared.

“We’ve travelled a long way,” explained Crowpaw. “But we’re back now, and I need to speak with Tallstar.”

“Who must speak with Tallstar?” A belligerent meow made Squirrelpaw jump, and she turned to see a WindClan warrior pick his way out from the heather, lifting his paws high to avoid the thorns. Two more warriors followed him. Squirrelpaw stared at them in alarm. They were so thin she could see the ribs beneath their fur. Hadn’t these cats been catching any fresh-kill recently?

“It’s me! Crowpaw!” meowed the WindClan apprentice, the tip of his tail twitching. “Webfoot, don’t you recognise me?”

“Of course I do,” meowed the warrior in a flat tone. He sounded so indifferent that Squirrelpaw felt a jab of pity for her friend. This was no sort of homecoming—and Crowpaw hadn’t even given his Clanmates the bad news yet.

“We thought you were dead,” Webfoot meowed.

“Well, I’m not.” Crowpaw blinked. “Is the Clan OK?”

Webfoot’s eyes narrowed. “What are these cats doing here?” he demanded.

“They travelled with me,” Crowpaw replied. “I can’t explain now, but I will tell Tallstar everything,” he added.

Webfoot seemed uninterested in Crowpaw’s words, and Squirrelpaw felt the scrawny warrior’s gaze rake over her as he hissed, “Get them off our territory! They should not be here!”

Squirrelpaw couldn’t help thinking Webfoot was in no state to drive them out if they refused to go, but Brambleclaw stepped forward and dipped his head to the WindClan warrior. “Of course we’ll leave,” he meowed.

“We have to return to our own Clans anyway,” Squirrelpaw added pointedly. Brambleclaw shot her a warning glance.

“Then hurry up,” snapped Webfoot. He looked at Crowpaw. “Come on,” he growled. “I’ll take you to Tallstar.” He turned and began to head for the far side of the clearing.

Crowpaw twitched his tail. “Surely the camp is that way?” he meowed, signalling toward the other direction.

“We live in the old rabbit warrens now,” Webfoot told him.

Squirrelpaw saw confusion and anxiety flash in Crowpaw’s eyes. “The Clan has moved?”

“For now,” Webfoot answered.

Crowpaw nodded, though his gaze was still filled with questions. “Can I say goodbye to my friends?”

“Friends?” One of the other warriors spoke, a pale brown tom. “Do your loyalties lie with cats from other Clans now?”

“Of course not!” Crowpaw insisted. “But we have travelled together for more than a moon.”

The WindClan warriors glanced uncertainly at each other but said nothing as Crowpaw walked over to Tawnypelt and touched her mottled flank with his nose. He brushed affectionately past Brambleclaw and Stormfur; as he stretched his head to touch his muzzle against hers, Squirrelpaw was surprised by the warmth of his farewell. Crowpaw had found it hardest out of all of them to fit into the group, but after all they had been through together, even he felt the bond of friendship that connected all five cats.

“We must meet again soon,” Brambleclaw murmured, his voice low. “At the Great Rock, just as Midnight told us. We need to see the dying warrior so that we know what to do next.” He flicked his tail. “It might not be easy to convince our Clans that Midnight is telling the truth. The leaders aren’t going to want to hear that they must leave the forest. But if we’ve seen the dying warrior . . .”

“Why don’t we just bring our leaders with us?” Squirrelpaw mewed. “If they see the dying warrior too, they’ll have to believe Midnight is right.”

“I can’t imagine Leopardstar agreeing to come,” Stormfur warned.

“Nor Blackstar,” Tawnypelt agreed. “It’s not full moon, so there’s no truce among the four Clans.”

“But it’s so important,” Squirrelpaw persisted. “They must come!”

“We can try,” Brambleclaw decided. “Squirrelpaw’s right. This might be the best way to share the news.”

“OK,” Crowpaw meowed. “We’ll meet at Fourtrees tomorrow night, with or without our leaders.”

“Fourtrees!” Webfoot’s growl made Squirrelpaw jump. The WindClan warrior had obviously overheard their conversation. She felt a stab of guilt, although she knew there was no disloyalty to their Clans in what they were planning—quite the opposite, in fact. But Webfoot seemed to have other fears on his mind.

“You can’t meet at Fourtrees. There’s nothing left of it!” he spat.

Squirrelpaw felt her blood chill.

“What do you mean?” Tawnypelt demanded.

“All the Clans watched the Twolegs destroy it two moonrises ago, when we arrived for the Gathering. The Twolegs and their monsters cut down every one of the oaks.”

“They cut down the oaks?” Squirrelpaw echoed.

“That’s what I said,” growled Webfoot. “If you’re mouse-brained enough to go there, you’ll see for yourself.”

Squirrelpaw’s fierce desire to return home, to see her Clan and father and mother and sister, washed over her again like a wave, and her paws twitched with the urge to run back to the forest. The others seemed to share her feeling; Brambleclaw’s gaze hardened, and Stormfur kneaded the ground impatiently with his paws.

Crowpaw glanced at his Clanmates and then back at his friends. “Good luck,” he meowed quietly. “I still think we should meet there tomorrow night, even if the oaks have gone.” When Brambleclaw and Stormfur nodded, he turned and followed Webfoot into the heather.

As the WindClan cats disappeared from sight, Brambleclaw scented the air. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “We’re heading over the old badger set towards the river, Tawnypelt, but I think you should stay with us till we reach the WindClan border.”

“But it would be quicker if I head straight towards the Thunderpath,” Tawnypelt argued.

“It will be safer if we keep together till we’re off the moorland,” Stormfur meowed. “You don’t want to be caught alone on WindClan territory.”

“I’m not scared of WindClan,” Tawnypelt hissed. “Judging by those warriors, they’re hardly battle-fit.”

“We mustn’t do anything to provoke them,” Brambleclaw warned. “No cat knows yet where we’ve been, or what we have to tell them.”

“And we don’t know what the Twolegs have done here,” Stormfur added. “If we run into any of their monsters, we’ll be better off together.”

Tawnypelt gazed intently at her companions for a moment, then nodded.

Squirrelpaw blinked with relief. She did not want to say goodbye to another friend just yet.

Brambleclaw charged away over the moor, and the three other cats followed close behind. As they raced across the grass, the weak leaf-fall sunshine scarcely warmed the fur on Squirrelpaw’s back. They ran in silence, and she felt their mood darken as though a cloud had covered the sky. Ever since leaving the mountains, they had concentrated on nothing but reaching the forest, all equally desperate to return home. Squirrelpaw was beginning to think it might have been easier to keep travelling, to journey forever through unfamiliar territory, rather than face the responsibility of having to tell the Clans that they would have to leave their homes or else face a terrible death. But there was still the sign of the dying warrior to come—they had to see this through.