Goosefeather's Curse

by Erin Hunter

  Cloudberry shook a scrap of leaf off her ear and fixed him with her gaze. “As far as I’m concerned, you are an apprentice. It was Doestar’s idea to give you your full name, not mine.”

  Goosefeather bristled. “I earned it! I saw the kittypets attacking our patrol!”

  The old white cat turned back to her piles of leaves. “Your visions are a gift from StarClan. Everything else will have to be learned. Now go fetch those herbs while they’re still green.”

  Goosefeather ducked through the ferns, which were turning brown at the tips as the weather cooled and the days grew shorter. In the clearing, the apprentices had just returned from a border patrol with their mentors. Goosefeather nodded to them, but they just stared at him. Goosefeather felt a flash of annoyance. Why did they treat him like an outcast? Didn’t they understand how important his powers were? Even Moonpaw looked down at the ground as he walked past.

  “Don’t start thinking you’re better than us just because you got your name!” hissed Rabbitpaw.

  “I heard that,” growled his mentor, Mumblefoot. But he didn’t make Rabbitpaw apologize; on the contrary, Mumblefoot shook his head as Goosefeather padded by. Do all my Clanmates resent my new name? Goosefeather wondered.

  Larksong, her belly swollen with kits, blinked sympathetically at him. “Don’t let them bother you,” she whispered. “It’s just taking everyone a while to get used to the idea of such a young medicine cat.”

  Goosefeather shrugged. “Not my problem,” he mewed.

  He pushed into the gorse tunnel, wincing as a tuft of his gray fur got caught on a spike. He climbed out of the ravine and headed straight into the forest. There was a patch of comfrey halfway to Fourtrees that had still had several green plants last time he visited. The trees were silent, and the air was still except for occasional crisp brown leaves drifting down. One brushed against Goosefeather’s nose, and he purred in amusement. At first it had been alarming to watch the forest fade and turn brittle, but Cloudberry had reassured him that it would come back to life in newleaf, after the long, cold moons of leaf-bare.

  He reached the comfrey and started to pick the biggest leaves, nipping them low down on the stalk to make them easier to carry. He was just stacking them in a pile when he heard a crashing sound beside him. Goosefeather spun around just as a clump of bracken split apart and Stormtail burst through.

  The blue-gray warrior paused when he saw Goosefeather, and bared his teeth. “Watch out!” he snarled. He sprang past Goosefeather and vanished into the brambles.

  There was a single moment of stillness, and suddenly Goosefeather knew exactly what was about to happen. He had known about this since he was the tiniest kit, and in a way he had been waiting for it all his life. This had been his very first vision, and like all the rest, it was doomed to come true.

  The forest drew breath around him, and a huge black-and-white shape loomed through the bracken, bellowing in rage. Goosefeather braced himself. The badger had found him.

  It was far bigger than he had imagined, but the narrow, striped face was the same, and the sharp teeth dripping with saliva. The creature fixed beady black eyes on him and lunged toward him with a roar. There was no time to recall any of the battle moves Goosefeather had seen being practiced by the apprentices. He dropped to the ground and curled himself into a tiny ball. The terror he had felt as a tiny kit flooded through him, clamping his chest like talons. “Daisytoe!” he whispered.

  The badger landed with a thud on all four paws, trapping Goosefeather under its belly. Its fur stank like rotting flesh, and its hair was coarse and bristly. Goosefeather tried to wriggle free, but the badger spun around far more quickly than its size suggested and held Goosefeather down with one massive paw. Huge sharp claws sank into Goosefeather’s pelt, and he lay still, too scared even to shiver.

  Is this how it ends? he wondered, his mind strangely clear. If I see a dead cat now, will he be coming to take me to StarClan?

  The badger seemed puzzled by his lack of resistance. It rolled him roughly onto his side and lowered its head to sniff at him. Goosefeather retched as foul breath filled his nose. Then the badger curled back its lips, revealing cracked yellow teeth, and Goosefeather suddenly knew that he didn’t want to die.

  He let out a screech, bucking wildly under the badger’s paw until he could tear himself free. With a snap, the badger shut its jaws and lunged for Goosefeather again. Goosefeather knew there had to be something he could do to defend himself, some clever twist of claws or teeth, but all he knew were herbs. And dead cats.

  “Help me!” he yowled.

  The badger grunted as if it liked the idea of prey that made a noise. It slapped Goosefeather to the ground with its front paw and loomed over him. A globule of drool fell into Goosefeather’s eye.

  “Get off him!” There was a shriek behind the badger, and the massive head jerked away from Goosefeather. Blinking away the drool, he spotted a small silver shape clinging to the badger’s shoulders. “Leave him alone!”

  “Moonpaw! What are you doing?” Goosefeather yowled.

  His sister didn’t look up from jabbing her claws into the badger’s neck. “Saving you, mouse-brain. Get out of here while you can!”

  The badger was twisting and snapping at the tormentor on its back. One of its flailing front paws almost knocked Goosefeather off his feet, but he scrambled under brambles until he was out of reach. I can’t leave Moonpaw to fight it on her own, he thought desperately. But he knew there was nothing he could do to help her. He had no fighting skills.

  Suddenly there was a thrumming of paws, and a horde of blurry shapes flew at the badger. Yowls split the air, and the badger hunched under the warriors’ attack. Goosefeather saw Daisytoe tear the badger’s ear with her claws, while Windflight savaged its stumpy tail. Moonpaw sank her teeth once more into the badger’s scruff; then the mighty animal let out a bark and started to shuffle away into the bracken. One by one, the warriors dropped to the ground and chased after it, still spitting and snarling.

  Only Moonpaw remained, her sides heaving and blood welling from a scratch above her eye. “Goosefeather!” she panted. “Are you there?”

  Goosefeather crawled out from beneath the brambles. “I’m here,” he meowed. “You saved my life, Moonpaw! Thank you!” He stood up and tried to rub his muzzle against her head, but she ducked away.

  “You shouldn’t be out on your own if you can’t defend yourself!” she hissed. “I can’t believe you’ve been given your full name when you don’t even know how to fight.”

  Goosefeather shook his head. “Wait, it’s not my fault the badger attacked me. It was Stormtail—”

  Moonpaw stared at him. “Really? You’re going to blame Stormtail for this? Who do you think found the patrol and told them what was happening? I don’t believe you, Goosefeather. You put all our lives in danger today. I won’t always be here to save you. Try living in the real world for a while, and learn how to look after yourself!”

  She brushed past him and bounded into the bracken, following the trail left by the badger.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’d say you’ve been very lucky,” purred a soft voice.

  Goosefeather jumped. He hadn’t noticed the tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat standing beside him. “You think?” he retorted. “I nearly get my fur clawed off by a badger, and even my sister thinks I’m a freak.” He paused and studied the cat. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You were watching the attack by the kittypets. Who are you?”

  The she-cat twitched one ear. “I’d be insulted that you don’t know, except that I can hardly blame ThunderClan for wanting to forget about me. But I know all about you, Goosefeather, and what you can see. I can help you, if you like.”

  “Really? Are you going to show me another vision?” Goosefeather felt his energy returning.

  The she-cat snorted. “Why are you so concerned about the future? You have to live in the real world too. You need to learn a few fighting moves, or any cat will be able to
flay your pelt if they want to.” She padded around him, and Goosefeather was aware of powerful muscles sliding beneath her thick fur. “In fact, there is no better warrior to teach you how to fight.”

  Goosefeather turned around to keep her in sight. “I could ask any of my Clanmates to teach me,” he mewed. “I don’t need your help.”

  The she-cat stopped and looked at him. “Oh, I think you do, Goosefeather,” she mewed softly. “After all, not even your sister offered to help, even when she had just seen you being half eaten by a badger.”

  Goosefeather felt the hair rise along his spine. He didn’t need a stranger to taunt him. “Leave me alone,” he snarled, but without another word the she-cat sprang at him, claws unsheathed.

  Goosefeather stumbled backward, tripping over his own tail, and landed in the leaf mulch. The tortoiseshell cat stood looking down at him, her lip curled in amusement. “Get up. When I do that again, duck sideways so you take my weight on one shoulder. If you keep your hind legs under you, you should be able to flick me off.” She stepped back, letting Goosefeather scramble to his paws. “Ready?”

  He nodded. She leaped forward, and this time Goosefeather lurched to the side. A frond of bracken jabbed him in the eye and he almost lost his footing, but he felt the she-cat strike him nothing more than a glancing blow as she crashed to her paws.

  “Better!” she cried. “Now you try!”

  Goosefeather shook his head. “I only want to defend myself. I won’t be attacking anyone.”

  The she-cat hissed. “You’ll be useless if you can’t take the fight to your enemy. Attack is by far the best form of defense! Now come to me, and watch what I do.”

  Reluctantly Goosefeather sprang at her, halfheartedly baring his teeth. The she-cat stepped to the side and wrapped one paw around his front leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. “You’re making it too easy,” she hissed. “Try again, and this time act like you mean it. Pretend I’ve just clawed out your mother’s eyes.”

  Goosefeather pictured Daisytoe bleeding and blind, and lunged at the she-cat with real fury. She tried to step away again, but he kept his weight over his haunches and followed her. His front paws landed a satisfying blow on the back of her neck. The she-cat huffed and straightened up.

  “Much better!” she purred, her eyes gleaming. “Now let’s try some ground moves.”

  The shadows crept out from beneath the trees and the air turned chilly as they fought. The she-cat showed Goosefeather how to use his own weight against his opponent, how to anticipate a move by watching his enemy’s paws, and how to pummel the soft parts of the belly and throat to cause the worst injuries. Sometimes Goosefeather flinched, and a small voice inside him asked if it was right that a medicine cat should know how to cause so much pain. Then he remembered Moonpaw blaming him because he couldn’t defend himself against the badger, and he let his claws slide out as he raked his mentor’s pelt.

  She screeched and sprang away. “Careful, little one!” she spat. “You don’t want me to fight for real, I promise you.” She licked her ruffled chest fur. “I think we’ve done enough for today. I wouldn’t say you’re ready to take on another badger, but I think you could hold your own against a cat.”

  Goosefeather nodded, panting. “Thank you. Really. I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this before.”

  The she-cat glanced sideways at him. “Just don’t go looking for an excuse to practice on Stormtail,” she teased.

  Goosefeather stiffed in surprise. “You know Stormtail?”

  “Oh, I know every one of you.” She started to walk into the bracken.

  “What is your name?” Goosefeather called after her.

  The she-cat carried on walking without looking back. “Mapleshade,” she mewed.

  Limping from a sore shoulder where Mapleshade had wrenched him off his paws, Goosefeather headed back to the ravine. Moonpaw was approaching from the other direction. She ran up when she saw him, her fur fluffed out in alarm.

  “I’ve been looking for you! I’m really sorry for running off like that,” she blurted out. “I was frightened for you, that’s all. We drove the badger off the territory, so you’ll be safe now.”

  Goosefeather shrugged. “You were right. I do need to learn how to take care of myself.”

  “But you’re a medicine cat. It’s the duty of the warriors to keep you safe.” Moonpaw followed him as he started to walk down the path. “I could show you some moves, if you like. Windflight says I’m doing really well.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out on my own,” Goosefeather meowed without stopping.

  “But you can’t be on your own all the time!” Moonpaw protested. “Don’t you get lonely? It’s not normal, not having friends.”

  Goosefeather halted and spun around, hissing. “Don’t you understand? This is my normal. Get used to it, because nothing’s going to change.” He turned and ran the rest of the way down to the gorse bushes.

  Stormtail was standing beside the fresh-kill pile. Goosefeather walked up to him and put his mouth close to the warrior’s ear. “I know what you did,” he hissed. “You left me alone with that badger because you wanted me to get hurt.”

  Stormtail turned to him, bristling. “Don’t be so absurd!” he meowed. “I ran to fetch help!”

  “You brought it to me deliberately! If I had died, my blood would be on your paws! Moonpaw saved my life!”

  “Thank StarClan for your brave sister, then,” Stormtail purred. “She’s a wonderful cat.”

  “Leave Moonpaw out of this!” Goosefeather snarled.

  He was interrupted by Smallear racing up to him. “Cloudberry needs you in the nursery. Larksong is having her kits!”

  Goosefeather glared at Stormtail. “This isn’t over,” he spat. He spun around and raced to the nursery. From inside, he could hear Larksong panting and Cloudberry talking quietly to her. Goosefeather slipped through the branches and crouched beside the medicine cat.

  “Ah, good, you’re here,” she murmured in the same soothing tone. “Larksong, Goosefeather has arrived just in time to welcome your first kit. One more push!”

  The tortoiseshell she-cat let out a gasp as a spasm rippled along her flank. Goosefeather stared, fascinated, as a tiny wet bundle slid from beneath Larksong’s tail. Cloudberry drew the bundle toward her with one paw and nipped through the transparent layer that surrounded it. “Here you go,” she mewed, nudging it toward Goosefeather. “Start cleaning him up.” She turned to Larksong and ran one paw along the she-cat’s flank. “You have a beautiful son,” she purred. “But I think there’s another to come. Don’t give up now.”

  Goosefeather began to lick the tiny kit’s damp fur, keeping one eye on Larksong. A heartbeat later there was a second bundle lying in the moss. Cloudberry pushed it toward Larksong’s head. “Another tom,” she meowed. The little cat opened its jaws in a high-pitched wail. “With a loud voice already,” Cloudberry purred. “Come on, Larksong, clean him up so they can have their first feed.”

  Goosefeather felt his kit start to wriggle beneath his tongue. “I think this one’s hungry,” he mewed.

  “Put him next to Larksong’s belly,” Cloudberry instructed. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Goosefeather stared in awe as the kit nosed its way into Larksong’s fur and latched onto a teat. “Amazing,” he breathed.

  “I agree,” mewed Cloudberry softly. “I never get tired of this moment.”

  The second kit joined his brother, and Goosefeather watched them suckle. Larksong lay back and closed her eyes. Cloudberry started to pull away the stained moss. “We’ll freshen up her nest and leave her in peace,” she whispered.

  Goosefeather rested one paw on the kit he had cleaned. At once, images burst into his head, tumbling and flashing in a blur of senses: the Moonstone, the strong smell of herbs, a gaping wound padded with thick white webs, glittering starlight full of voices. He looked up at Cloudberry. “He’s going to be a medicine cat!” he breathed.

  Q
uickly he placed his paw on the other kit. Now he saw the four giant oaks silhouetted against the night sky, felt the cool stone of the Great Rock beneath his paws, watched the Clans swirl in the hollow below. He heard the roar of battle and tasted the sweetness of victory, echoed in the cheers of his warriors. “And this one will be ThunderClan’s leader,” he declared. He stared at Cloudberry, his head whirling. “We have to tell Doestar! These kits are truly special!”

  He jumped up, but Cloudberry blocked his way with her tail. “Every kit is special,” she told him fiercely. “You may think you know what will happen, but StarClan knows better than any of us. Let these kits grow up like any other, without the burden of knowing their future.”

  Goosefeather frowned. “I didn’t have a chance to grow up like other kits,” he growled. “You knew I was going to be a medicine cat.”

  The old white cat sighed. “You were always different, Goosefeather. I know it’s hard, but you have to keep what you have seen to yourself this time.” She rested the tip of her tail on Goosefeather’s shoulder. “You have a very precious gift, young one. Sometimes it will feel like a burden, but I believe that StarClan has given it to you for a reason, so you must always be grateful for it and treat it with care.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the kits, who were snuffling at Larksong’s belly with milky muzzles. “Now let’s leave these perfect little bundles to get some rest. It’s time to tell their Clanmates the good news.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As the moons rolled into leaf-bare, more and more kits were born, until Goosefeather could hardly squeeze into the nursery. Harepounce gave birth to a pair of pale-furred she-cats, Specklekit and Whitekit, and Rainfur joined her soon after with Dapplekit, Tawnykit, and Thrushkit. Cloudberry insisted on dealing with the births on her own, sending Goosefeather to fetch soaked moss and fresh bedding instead. Goosefeather knew she didn’t want him to touch the newborn kits for fear he would see their entire future unroll.