Moonrise

Prologue

One by one, the cats crept into the cave. Their fur was streaked with mud and their eyes stretched wide with fear, reflecting the cold moonlight that filtered through a crack in the roof. They crouched low with their bellies close to the ground, their gazes flickering from side to side as if they expected to see danger lurking in the shadows.

The glimmer of moonlight was caught in pools of water on the cave floor. It lit up a forest of pointed stones, some rising from the ground and others hanging from the cave roof. Some of the stones joined in the middle to form slender trees of slimming white rock. Wind gusted through them, ruffling the cats' fur. The air smelled damp and clean, and was filled with the distant roar of falling water.

A cat stepped out from behind one of the pointed stones. He was long-bodied, with lean, muscular limbs, and his pelt was completely covered in mud that had dried into spikes, so that he looked like a cat carved in stone.

"Welcome," he meowed in a rasping voice. "Moonlight lies on the water. It is time for a Telling, according to the laws of the Tribe of Endless Hunting."

One of the cats crept forward, dipping his head to the mud-covered cat. "Stoneteller, have you had a sign? Has the Tribe of Endless Hunting spoken to you?"

Another cat spoke from behind him. "Is there hope at last?"

Stoneteller bowed his head. "I have seen the words of the Tribe of Endless Hunting in the pattern of moonlight on rock, in the shadows cast by the stones, in the sound of raindrops as they fall from the roof." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the cats around him. "Yes," he went on. "They have told me there is hope."

A faint murmur, like the rustle of leaves in the wind, passed through the group of cats. Their eyes seemed to glow brighter, and their ears pricked. The one who had come forward first mewed hesitantly, "Then you know what will rid us of this dreadful danger?"

"Yes, Sharp Cliff," Stoneteller replied. "The Tribe of Endless Hunting has promised me that a cat will come, a silver cat not from this Tribe, who will rid us of Sharptooth once and for all."

There was a pause, then: "Are there other cats, not in the Tribe of Rushing Water?" a voice asked from the back of the group.

"There must be," another cat replied.

"I have heard tell of strangers," meowed Sharp Cliff, "though we've seen none here in our lifetimes. But when will the silver cat come?" he added desperately, and other mews rose from all around him.

"Yes, when?"

"Is it really true?"

Stoneteller signaled for silence with a twitch of his tail. "Yes, it is true," he meowed. "The Tribe of Endless Hunting has never lied to us. I have seen the sheen of his silver fur myself, in a moonlit pool."

"But when?" Sharp Cliff persisted.

"The Tribe of Endless Hunting has not shown that to me," Stoneteller replied. "I do not know when the silver cat will come, or from where, but we will know when he arrives."

He raised his head toward the cave roof, and his eyes shone like two shiny moons. "Until then, cats of my Tribe, we can only wait."