Tallstar's Revenge (11 page)

Before Stagleap could answer, yowls echoed behind them. Tallpaw spun around, scanning the moor. He could see nothing but birds swooping across the heather. Larksplash tasted the air. The yowls sounded again, deep and hollow, strangely muffled.

Ryestalk's gray fur stood on end. “What is that?”

Tallpaw darted to the edge of the gorge and looked over. Was someone calling from the bottom?

“It's coming from here!” Dawnstripe was sniffing at a rabbit hole a few tail-lengths away. She backed away as the yowls grew louder.

Sandgorse burst out of the hole. Fur spiked up, eyes wide, he glanced over his shoulder as Mistmouse hurtled out on his heels. “Are you okay?” He circled his mud-streaked tunnelmate, sniffing her anxiously.

“I'm fine,” she panted. Her pelt was thick with mud.

Sandgorse stuck his head down the hole and yowled. Tallpaw pricked his ears as distant yowls sounded back.

“They're safe.” Sandgorse straightened up. He seemed to notice Larksplash for the first time. “Just a cave-in. The others are safe. Hickorynose and Woollytail are experts. They'll find their way out through a lower entrance if they need to.” He shook out his pelt.

Tallpaw rushed over to his father. “What happened?”

Sandgorse touched his nose to Tallpaw's head. “Too much sunshine,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Makes the soil shrink. Rocks drop and we get cave-ins.” He looked at the wide, blue sky. “We could sure use a few days of rain.”

Tallpaw winced. What if Sandgorse had been caught in the cave-in? In the last half-moon, he'd been aware of more and more distance between himself and his father. Sandgorse spoke to him, but not often, and not with the warmth he'd had before. If he could just see how well Tallpaw was doing with his training, he would understand that he had chosen the right path, and everything would be okay again.

Sandgorse padded away, weaving between Dawnstripe and Stagleap. “Are you patrolling the borders?”

“We've nearly finished,” Dawnstripe told him. “No sign of intruders.”

The tunneler gazed across the heather. “We've been digging all night.”

Ryestalk blinked at him. “Aren't you tired?”


Sandgorse's eyes shone. “We're so close to breaking through to the gorge.” His ears twitched excitedly. “I'm not resting till it's done.”

Mistmouse peered down the tunnel. “What about the cave-in?”

“We'll clear it in no time.” Sandgorse nosed past her, his mew echoing as he stuck his head into the hole. “The soil's light. It'll be easy to burrow through.” He ducked out and looked at Dawnstripe. “This is the perfect time to give Tallpaw some tunneling experience.”

Tallpaw's pelt bristled. He forced it flat. “But we're patrolling the borders.”

Sandgorse kept his gaze on Dawnstripe. “You said you'd nearly finished.”

Dawnstripe glanced at Tallpaw. “Heatherstar does want every warrior to spend a day underground,” she conceded.

“At
least
a day.” There was an edge to Sandgorse's mew. “How will moor runners appreciate the importance of the tunnels if they don't know what it's like to be underground?”

“Of course.” Dawnstripe shifted her paws.

Please, no,
Tallpaw begged her silently.

“Then it's settled.” Sandgorse beckoned Tallpaw with a flick of his tail.

Tallpaw looked hopefully at Dawnstripe. “Is it?”

“You might as well go with him.” Dawnstripe dipped her head. “When you're finished, come and find me in camp.”

“Okay.” Swallowing, Tallpaw padded toward his father. The rabbit hole loomed in front of him like a black mouth sucking him in.
There can't be more than one cave-in today, surely?

Sandgorse purred. “I'm glad you finally have a chance to see what tunneling's all about.” For the first time in a half moon he gazed at Tallpaw with pride.

Tallpaw gritted his teeth. He couldn't let his father down now. “I'm looking forward to it,” he lied. Perhaps once he was underground, he'd understand why his father thought being a tunneler was so special.

C
HAPTER
10

“You first, Mistmouse.” Sandgorse stood aside
to let the pale tabby she-cat scramble into the burrow. Behind her, Tallpaw paused. “Go on,” Sandgorse urged. “Don't let the darkness put you off. Remember you have ears and whiskers as well as eyes.”

Tallpaw crept in. The earth was loose beneath his paws and he unsheathed his claws, digging them in to stop himself from sliding as the tunnel sloped steeply down. Blackness wrapped around him as the entrance faded behind. Tallpaw strained to see the walls of the tunnel, or where he was placing his feet, but no light eased the darkness. He could hear his father behind him, Sandgorse's breath warm on his tail as the air at his muzzle turned cold. Tallpaw's pelt, hot from the sun a few moments ago, felt the chill, and he bushed out his fur.

Sandgorse purred. “If you think this is cold, wait till we're deeper.” Tallpaw tried not to imagine it. “Listen.” Sandgorse paused. Tallpaw stood still. He could hear Mistmouse's fur brushing the walls ahead.

“Wait, Mistmouse!” Sandgorse called. Her paw steps stilled. “Can you hear it?” Sandgorse asked.

Tallpaw pricked his ears. “Hear what?”

“Keep listening.”

Tallpaw strained to hear, closing his eyes to block out the stifling darkness. Muffled paw steps sounded at the edge of his hearing.

“That's your patrol, heading along the gorge,” Sandgorse mewed softly.

“How do you know?” Tallpaw whispered.

“Three sets of paw steps, heading away from us.”

Tallpaw was impressed. “It could have been rabbits,” he suggested.

“No.” Sandgorse shifted his paws. “They thump; they don't patter.”

“Can you tell if it's sheep?”

“Of course. Their steps are harder, while a dog's resonate more deeply in the earth.”

Mistmouse moved ahead of them, stirring the darkness with thicker shadows. “Your father can tell ThunderClan paw steps from WindClan,” she told Tallpaw with a hint of pride.

Sandgorse's tail whisked the side of the tunnel. “ThunderClan high-step like deer,” he growled. “When they pass overhead on the way to the Moonstone, they prance over us like they own the moor.”

“Typical ThunderClan,” Mistmouse huffed.

Sandgorse snorted. “They have no idea we can track them from underground. We know exactly when they arrive and when they leave WindClan territory.”

“We'd know if they dared stop to hunt,” Mistmouse added.

Tallpaw felt a nudge from behind. “Let's get going,” Sandgorse prompted. “Hickorynose and Woollytail are probably already digging through the cave-in from the other side. They'll need our help.”

Tallpaw blinked, wishing his eyes would adjust to the darkness. But without a spark of light, he began to realize that he was utterly blind here. Mistmouse's paws scurried ahead and Tallpaw followed, pressing back the queasy feeling in his belly.
Sandgorse
won't let anything happen to me.

Tallpaw's whiskers dragged along the tunnel sides, sending shivers through his fur. A sudden gap in the wall on one side surprised him, along with the blast of cold air that struck his flank.

“That tunnel leads toward the high-moor,” Sandgorse told him.

“Do you know where you are all the time?” Tallpaw was amazed. He felt as helpless as a mouse—as though the earth had swallowed him like prey.

“Every tunneler knows each twist and turn,” Sandgorse meowed. “We can get to any part of our territory from here, and cross any border.”

Tallpaw's thoughts quickened. Having the tunnels meant that WindClan could thwart any invasion and outwit any enemy. No wonder the tunnelers defended their skills so fiercely. “Has Heatherstar been in the tunnels?” he asked.

“She comes on patrol occasionally,” Sandgorse replied. “But she doesn't really understand the darkness, or the power it gives to a warrior. She's a moor runner who can only imagine hunting and fighting overground.”

“I can hear them.” Mistmouse slowed down.

Tallpaw nearly bumped into her. Stopping clumsily, he strained his ears and heard muffled mews ahead. He felt Sandgorse press behind him.

“Make way, Tallpaw.” Tallpaw squeezed against the side of the passage to let his father pass. “They're digging,” Sandgorse reported. “We should start work this side and meet them in the middle.”

Tallpaw heard Mistmouse begin scooping earth with her front paws. The tunnel was wider here. Tallpaw could feel space around his whiskers. There was enough room for Sandgorse and Mistmouse to work side by side.

“We always work in twos,” Sandgorse told Tallpaw, pushing a heap of dirt back toward him. “If there's a cave-in, you never leave your companion. It's the most important rule of tunneling. Another cat's life is as precious as your own. Never forget it for a moment.”

Mistmouse chimed in. “One tunneler dies; two tunnelers survive.”

Tallpaw reached for the earth Sandgorse had kicked back to him. “What do I do with this?” Surely it was dumb just to fill up the space behind?

“Spread it out,” Sandgorse told him. “As thin as you can, even if it means dragging it right back up the tunnel.”

Tallpaw was still pushing loose soil around when he heard a stone scraping earth. He felt its hardness against his muzzle as Sandgorse pushed it back toward him. “How do I get rid of stones?” Tallpaw called.

“Press it into a crevice, if you can find one,” Sandgorse meowed over his shoulder. “Keep it close. We never get rid of stones; they're useful for shoring up walls.”

Tallpaw grabbed the stone in his paws. It was bigger than the sparrow-sized rocks he'd practiced on as a kit, but he heaved it backward, grunting at the effort.
You're always stronger than you think.
Sandgorse's lesson came back to him. And it was true: Even in the cramped space, Tallpaw found he could tug the stone back up the tunnel until he felt a dent in the earth wall. Pushing hard, he pressed the stone into the earth, then returned to haul some more of the soil that Sandgorse and Mistmouse had dug out. Scrabbling with his forepaws, Tallpaw dragged a pile of earth backward, leaving a trail of loose dirt in his wake.

His paws were clogged with grit and he could feel soil deep in his pelt. Fighting the instinct to wash it out, he kept hauling earth, spreading it back up the tunnel. Each time he hurried back for another load, he trampled the loose earth harder into the tunnel floor. As he reached for another pile, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten he was working in the dark. And he was warm!

“They're close!” Sandgorse called excitedly. “Can you hear them, Tallpaw?”

Tallpaw listened and heard Woollytail's growl. Hickorynose answered, his gruff mew echoing beyond the wall of dirt.

Tallpaw's pelt pricked. “Won't it collapse again if we clear away the blockage?”

“All the earth's fallen that's going to fall,” Sandgorse reassured him.

“How do you know?”

“Listen.” Sandgorse scraped back more pawfuls of dirt, then halted. “Do you hear loose dirt? Or falling stones?”

“No.” Tallpaw felt a quiver of relief.

“And there's no creaking above,” Mistmouse added. “The earth will hold.” As she spoke, Tallpaw felt fresh air on his whiskers.

“Sandgorse!” Woollytail's delighted mew echoed around the walls of the tunnel.

“Is Hickorynose all right?” Mistmouse asked.

“I'm fine!” Hickorynose called from farther down the tunnel.

“Great.” Tallpaw felt his father's tail swish past his nose. “Now we can get back to finding the gorge.”

Tallpaw tasted the air. “I smell heather!” The sweet scent of blossom touched his tongue.

Sandgorse's tail flicked past his nose. “There's an airhole ahead,” he explained. “A small crack up through the earth to the moor.”

Tallpaw strained his eyes and saw shapes in the darkness: Woollytail's spine; Hickorynose's ears silhouetted against it.

Light! And air!
Tallpaw felt a rush of excitement.

“Let's head for the river,” Mistmouse urged.

“Are you still trying to tunnel through the clay seam to get to the river?” Tallpaw asked, remembering a discussion from moons ago.

“That's right.” Sandgorse nudged him forward as the others headed away. “It's hard gauging our depth exactly, but yesterday I hit clay.”

Tallpaw glanced up as he passed below the airhole, blinking into the pale light seeping from the moor. “You found the seam?”

“That's what we've been digging through all night.” Sandgorse's mew was filled with warmth. “We should break through to the other side soon. I'm so pleased you're here to see it happen! The first ever tunnel from high-moor to the river!”

Tallpaw felt the air dampen and fade as the soil around him thickened to mud. He was sharply aware of the airhole fading into the distance, and with it, the light and the scent of heather. He followed the sound of paw steps, staying close to the warmth of Mistmouse's tail. As the tunnel twisted and turned, he quickly learned to recognize changes in the thickness of air that warned of a turning ahead. But his chest was tightening and he found himself snatching for each breath.

“Sandgorse?” he called nervously.

“Nearly there.” Sandgorse's reply was muffled.

“Sandgor—” A hard wall of mud slapped Tallpaw's muzzle. He yelped, half in pain, half-surprised.

Sandgorse stumbled back. “Turn to your right! Concentrate!”

“Sorry.” Tallpaw pricked his ears, focusing harder on the space ahead.

The air ahead seemed to tremble, and as he pushed on, the earth throbbed around him.

“What's that?” Tallpaw froze. Was the tunnel about to collapse?

“It's just the river,” Woollytail called. “We're at the end of the tunnel. A few more scoops and we'll be in the gorge.”

In the gorge!
Fresh air!
Tallpaw's chest relaxed a little. They were probably only a tail-length from the wind and the sun.

Sandgorse pushed past him. “Wait here.”

Tallpaw heard paws scraping dirt.

“The clay's wetter here!” Hickorynose sounded jubilant. “We must be close.”

Tallpaw hung back, listening above the hum of the river. The tunnelers' pelts brushed against one another; clay squelched beneath their paws. Tallpaw could hear their breathing as they worked. “Should I dig, too?” he offered. Anything to get them into daylight faster.

Splat
. A hunk of clay landed in front of him. Mud spattered his nose.

“Start packing the dug clay into the walls,” Mistmouse ordered.

Tallpaw wrinkled his nose as he scooped up a pawful of slippery earth and smeared it against the side of the tunnel. He felt the earth trembling beneath his pads. The river must be very close.

Splat.
Another lump landed at his paws.
Splat. Splat.

The tunnelers were tossing clods so fast that Tallpaw hopped back to avoid them. He snatched another pawful and slapped it against the wall. Working as fast as he could, he gathered pawful after pawful of clay, spreading it along the passage behind him until he could hardly squeeze past the fresh, slimy layer. He paused for breath, his muscles aching. He must look like a mud-drowned rat by now.

“Tallpaw?”

As he turned back for more mud, he felt his father's breath near his muzzle. “What?”

“This is what I always dreamed of,” Sandgorse mewed softly. “You working beside me. Digging a new tunnel together, a tunnel that may be the one to change WindClan's destiny forever.”

Tallpaw stiffened. Did Sandgorse think he'd change his mind about becoming a moor runner now that he'd been underground? Another gob of clay splatted in the passage beside Tallpaw and his father darted back to help the others.

“Are we nearly there?” Tallpaw called above the rumbling of the river. His ear fur quivered.
Has it gotten louder?