CHAPTER 65-Bloodlust

"You won't take me alive!" Heathertail snapped, the fur along her back bristling as she scraped her claws against the dry ground, her dull blue eyes filled with malice as she stared at the small cat quivering in front of her.

He was scrawny enough to be agile and quick, yet he didn't look any older than an apprentice. The stripes along his tawny fur broke off into darker blotches and flecks that mottled the rest of his pelt, like a leopard's coat. His green eyes were wide and fearful as he stared at Heathertail, and backed away when she hissed again.

"Traitor!" Reedwhisker yowled. Only Cloverstream remained still and quiet, her eyes closed with her tail wrapped around her belly.

I took a step forward to comfort Reedwhisker, but shrank back when he rounded on me, teeth bared. He looked like a beast.

Dewstep's tail twitched in annoyance. Turning to Reedwhisker, he meowed, "What are you so worked up about? He's only an apprentice."

The spotted cat stood trembling in front of us. His gangly legs quivered underneath him, as frail as leaves. Although he said nothing, his large doe eyes were brimming with emotions that he couldn't bring himself to put to words. They passed over me and I stiffened.

Cloverstream slowly opened her eyes and whispered softly, "Spottedpaw, how could you?" but the tom had already fled without a single glance back, his tail disappearing among the shadows of the tunnels.

Heathertail growled one last time and turned her back to us, tucking her paws underneath her with a huff.

"You okay?" Dewstep asked, and Reedwhisker finally sighed and nodded. He sat down on his haunches, his black fur growing flat again.

When they had all grown quiet and silent, I asked, "Who was that cat?" I turned to Cloverstream. "You said his name was Spottedpaw?"

Heathertail muttered, "You're not allowed to say his name anymore. He is no longer part of the Clans."

"So he is an apprentice?" I asked.

"Used to be." This time it was Cloverstream who spoke. She looked all too tired and weary and I was compelled to tell her to rest and save her breath, but she carried on anyway. "He used to be part of my Clan, ShadowClan. But now he isn't any longer."

Heathertail flexed her claws in and out as if she could barely control her anger. "He betrayed us," she spat. "When the last of the Clans got sent down to the tunnels to suffer, he was there, standing with the foxes. He could've done something to help us, but he didn't. He didn't help us at all, not even his own Clanmates. Once a while, he comes down here to bring us some leftover scraps from the fox's prey, but that's it. No matter how much we grovel or beg, he won't even utter a word ."

Reedwhisker meowed, "He's a traitor and a rat-heart. He is willing to forget his Clan roots and pretend that he's a fox, running along with the rest of those flea-bitten scoundrels."

The words were venom. "He doesn't seem that way to me," I said, remembering those timid grass-green eyes.

Reedwhisker snorted and lowered his muzzle to his paws, closing his eyes.

My stomach rumbled and clenched like a fist. I hadn't eaten in days. If only Spottedpaw would come down here right now and give me a few scraps of leftover prey. My empty stomach would be perfectly content with that.

Dewstep lowered his voice and whispered, "So how do we get out of here?"

Reedwhisker must have heard, for he scoffed, "You're wasting your hopes, tom. There is no way out of here except death."

I ignored him and replied to Dewstep, "I don't know, but I'll figure something out. We'll be out of here in no time." And for the first time, my voice faltered and my confidence seemed to dwindle, just a little bit.

OoOOoOoOOOOOOOOOOOOoOoooOOOOOOOOOOOoOoOooooOoO

Two rats were crouched in front of our cell, whiskers twitching and red eyes darting back and forth as if they were planning on doing something very nasty indeed. Their thieving hands twitched and their fingers were never still.

My vision blurred around the edges as I began to doze off into sleep. My ears twitched. I heard little snippets of their conversation.

Time…again…

Her?

Yes…perfect…choose her.

…Ready….

Their voices were scratchy and hoarse and very, very needling. With their naked tails streaming behind them, they pattered away, tiny claws going tap, tap, tap on the dry underground floor.

OooOoOOoooOoOOoOOooOOoOoOOooOoOOooOoooo

The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me awake and I heard a flurry of angry hisses and thundering barks.

A mongrel was looming over me, black eyes stern and large teeth bared. He was ginormous, practically a hulk, probably with German Shepherd blood running through his veins.

"Get up!" he snapped, loud enough to make me cringe.

A smaller fox was holding back a furious Dewstep who was nothing but claws and teeth and uncontrolled rage.

"Get your dirty paws off of her!" he yowled while the fox tried to restrain him. "You're not taking her away!"

The other cats were huddled in the far corner, eyes wide and afraid.

The large dog yanked me to my paws. I stood there, stiff and trembling a little, not quite sure what was going on.

"Move," he growled.

Dewstep let out an earsplitting screech and launched himself at the mongrel, only to be held back by the other one.

I had never seen him this angry. His ears were flattened against his head and his mouth was mouth was pulled back into a snarl as he tried to reach me, clawing the fox that held him down.

The German Shepherd mix herded me out of the cell and with one last look back I whispered, "Dewstep…"

I was forced down the tunnels. Even though he was far away behind us now, I could still hear him howling my name.

"Someone shut that cat up," the dog growled, and I instinctively unsheathed my claws.

My steps slowed and I longed to turn back. He glared at me out of his beady eyes and I knew that it wasn't possible.

"Get a move on, or I'll drag you."

I opened my mouth to try to reason with him. He showed me his teeth.

Black shapes darted through cracks in the walls, red eyes gleaming and chattering with whispery voices. The rats passed us and scurried away.

A couple of foxes trotted past with quick pawsteps, as if they were in a hurry to be somewhere.

After padding through numerous winding hallways and dark corridors, the throaty laughter and howls resounded louder and louder past the thin walls. It sounded like a party underneath us, complete with wild hooting and bellows.

What were they doing under there? Was it a party, or a convention of elephants that were roaring with one-hundred-decibel drums? It pounded into my skull and tore into my eardrums. My heart did flips in my chest. After a while, the rowdy clamor of brass bells was the only thing I could hear.

The tunnel ended in a gaping, wide room lined with jagged teeth made out of stones. "Inside," the dog barked, having to shout in order to hear himself over the thundering noise. Before I could decide whether or not I wanted to go in there, he shoved me roughly inside.

And then I gaped.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The room was enormous; almost the size of a stadium, and it was absolutely packed with the moving pelts of dogs, badgers, rats, and foxes. It was a scene of extreme confusion and turmoil: they were all howling and whooping at the top of their lungs, and their attention all seemed to be fixed at something in the center of the room. It was an utter pandemonium that I in no way wanted to be a part of.

The dog, however, had different plans. Pushing his way through the crowd, he herded me over to a small ring guarded by several roving badgers.

He growled, "Stay here, and don't move," before turning around and leaving me behind. His brown head bobbed up above the sea of pelts before a wave of fur engulfed him from view.

The badgers sniffed me, black eyes stern, and snorted. Their hot breath washed over my face and made me recoil.

With a huge swat of one paw, they sent me careening off behind them, and before I could stop myself, I collided into a dull ginger wall of fur.

Staggering to my paws, I mumbled an apology before blinking in surprise.

She was bone-thin with her cheeks sunken in like empty shells. Her thin fur was patchy and bald in some places, and her joints were old and slow.

Yet, I knew those eyes, those eyes that I had seen half-closed and sleepy next to the nettle patch in the camp, the sunlight casting golden blotches on her ragged pelt.

I breathed, "Sandstorm?"

She seemed just as startled as I was. "Shadefrost?"

Relief washed over me. "You're alive?" I mewed in excitement. "Thank StarClan!"

"Shadefrost? Is that you?" More heads peered from Sandstorm's thin shoulders: Graystripe and Hazeltail. I hardly recognized them: their fur used to be thick and well-groomed with muscles rippling underneath, but now they had been reduced to nothing but skin and bones and ashes.

Staring at the cheering hounds around me, I whispered worriedly, "What's happening?"

Graystripe's brow furrowed. "You mean you don't know? How long have you been down here?"

Hazeltail scuffled her paws nervously against the dirt, sending up small puffs of dust. She mumbled something under her breath.

"The…the Pitch," she whispered.

My breath hitched. Could it be…?

Sandstorm shifted her paws tiredly and sighed. "I don't want to do this anymore…" she whispered sorrowfully.

Lifting up her dull green eyes, she mewed, "Over there, in the center of the room. You'll see. Or you won't. It's better to just look away and cover your ears."

Following her gaze, I peered out over the heads of rowdy canines and snarling badgers.

In the center of the huge room was a ring marked out by boulders. Two cats were circling each other, both of them with shaggy pelts and ribs sticking out of their sides.

I was too far away to see them clearly, but they must have been from different Clans.

The white one paused, ears twitching, and then pounced on the other. They tumbled to the ground and yowled, writhing and battling like a pair of snakes.

The foxes hooted louder than ever.

"Fight!"

"Claw her eyes out!"

"Aim for the throat!"

I wanted to close my eyes, but something held me there so I couldn't move. I wish I could close my ears too.

Blood spewed out like scarlet blossoms that splashed onto the ground in petals. The screams from the dying cat gradually began to die out like a burned out light bulb.

Hazeltail whimpered and buried her face in Graystripe's fur.

Graystripe hung his head, for he knew that he was powerless to stop them. "This is awful." His voice shook. "The foxes force us down here to watch our Clanmates die. And the worst part is that…I can't do anything. I can't do anything at all."

My jaw was slightly open in disbelief and I shut it. I blinked, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn't come out.

The hounds bellowed and let out ear-splitting cheers when one of the cats collapsed. The survivor stood over him, blood dripping from his fangs.

"Yeah!"

"I knew he'd win!"

"Who's the next in line?"

The cat looked up from the body, and even though I was too far away to see, I knew that his face bore the expression of shame and horror.

Taking a trembling step back from his fallen comrade, he meowed, "I won't do this anymore. I don't care if you kill me, but I can't do this. Just please let me go."

The cheering died down. Now the crowd was scowling at him out of their beady red eyes.

"What's going to happen to him?" I gasped. Sandstorm only hung her head while Graystripe turned away. None of them answered.

One of the foxes barked, "I say death to him! Death to all cats!"

The others howled in agreement, and with a look of shock on his face, the cat was tossed up into the air. He screamed as he came crashing down on a sea of angry claws and teeth.

"Oh StarClan," I whispered, my limbs rigid and numb. With a stifled shriek, I clenched my eyes shut before I could see him get torn to pieces. They were tossing him back and forth like a ragdoll in their wicked game of catch.

After a while, when the poor tom's blood had soaked into the ground and the wild hubbub had calmed down a bit, the badger growled and motioned me forward.

I only stood there in shock. Was I next?

Sandstorm passed me and whispered gently, "Come on, dear. It'll be worse if we don't obey them."

Keeping my eyes to the floor, I followed Sandstorm as the badgers guided us to the Pitch.

The killing ring reeked of fear and death. The blood from the previous round still tainted the boulders.

My stomach churned, not from the sight of blood, but because I had just witnessed the death of two Clan cats.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd began to chant. I wanted to scream at them to shut up. How could anyone take pleasure in watching this twisted game?

Sandstorm stood in front of me. My opponent.

My Clanmate.

I told myself that no matter what happened, I would not kill her. Even if they killed me, I would keep my claws sheathed until the very end.

I looked up, expecting to see a flash of fear or sadness in her face, but her green eyes were calm. Staring into those two pools of green relaxed my heart, just a tiny bit.

"Shadefrost…" she mewed wearily. She smiled.

"You were a good warrior," she said. "You were the best."

I choked on my words, hardly able to get them out of my dry throat. "Sandstorm…" I mewed quietly. My eyes watered.

Her eyes hardened with determination and anger. Anger at the tunnels, at the foxes and the badgers and the rats and dogs and Darklings, angry at Fang for bringing this down on all of us.

"Let the round begin!" a fox called out. The mass began to howl and cackle with excitement.

My ears flattened as I crouched down, my tail lashing. The fight had begun. The Pitch was a large and furious and ill-tempered god, and now it was my turn to do sacrifice. Sandstorm stood in front of me, her expression still as calm as a cloudless sky.

Her gaze wavered, softly like a fallen soldier, and then she took a step forward.