Chapter 14

Marlo

"Marlo," an almost accusing growl made him start to his paws quickly.

The brown-and-white tom looked around, and found himself staring into the eyes of Blaze, and quickly recoiled, head bowed in respect. He'd never particularly liked Blaze; the ginger tom was rough in both ways and words, and had little feeling or thought for cats other than himself, besides his mate ― the second one, that was, because the first one, Whisker, had met an unfortunate death in the mountains, and Marlo had always been sure that Blaze was somehow involved. He couldn't help not liking the other tom, even though they were cousins

"Sir," he said drearily, dreading the day ahead.

Sure, this would be his first time out of the mountains in seasons, but they were marching to their deaths. This new Storm didn't know anything about battle tactics, and nor did Blaze; not that he really cared, because as soon as they got there he would change sides. The rest of these cats would be either killed, although he was pretty sure the new ideology decreed that killing was morally wrong, and could not be committed, or they would be kept wherever all the other cats had been put, a place which Marlo had no idea where it was.

"Are you coming, Marlo?" Blaze meowed sharply.

He wasn't angry ― Marlo knew his cousin better. Blaze was unhappy about something, but he wasn't going to press him any further. Instead, he padded out of the cave and into the chilling winds of the mountains, which made his thoughts revert to the two solemn she-cats, barely older than three seasons, who had followed him quietly through the cave with no question as to where they were going. They were seemingly accepting their fate, and somehow, he knew, they were connected to Storm, the first leader of the Guardians of the Night, but in no way the best. Storm had overpowered his son's mind, even though he was dead, and was now speaking through him. He shivered. How horrible, how strange that would be. Even if you tried really hard, you wouldn't be able to say what you wanted; and then you'd watch yourself hurt the cats you loved in every way possible, until you'd seen and said so many bad things that you lost the will to keep on struggling.

"Hey," Sienna's soft meow caught his attention, and he turned towards the blue-grey she-cat with a small, sad smile.

There were tears glistening in her blue eyes, and she moved towards him suddenly, pressing herself against him as if she never wanted him to leave her. He closed his eyes, treasuring the moment, her warm pelt at his side, her breath brushing past his soft ear fur.

"Come back," she whispered in his ear.

"I will," he promised. "I'll come back and everything will be better. Storm will be dead, and we'll go and live where we were always supposed to live, with the new Guardians of the Night. We'll have a better life, and then all are kits will become fighters and be able to do things with their life."

"I know," Sienna said softly, pulling away and looking him in the eye. "But don't wish that Storm will be dead, you must wish that he is gone. Those cats you took me, Snow and Shell ― they really need their brother back. Like I need you, Marlo, they need him. He's the cat they've always relied on to keep them safe, the cat they've always looked up to, and now ―" she shook her head "― and now they're alone."

"They've lived here all their lives, Sienna," he reproached her gently. "They know how to look after themselves."

"Their mother was Falcer, Marlo," she said protectively, with a faint growl in her voice. "You know just as well as I do that she never wanted Storm as her mate. Those two cats and that black tabby tom, Thunder, are the kits that she said the Tribe of Rushing Water ― the mountain cats ― took away from her. That isn't really what happened though; she gave them to a cat she knew was expecting kits, who said she'd raise them as her own. Her name was Silver, and she was a good and decent cat. She had her own kits, five of them, and she took Shell, Snow and their brother in and raised them as if they were her own. She was from this other place, though, not these mountains, in a forest which had groups of cats known as Clans, and so they were returning there. But then everything went wrong, and she and two of her kits fell into the abyss that we found before we came to this place. One of the other kits then left and they haven't seen her since, and then the remaining two of Silver's litter fell into the very same abyss ― they were going in circles, you see. These cats have been wondering the mountains alone and terrified, without the guidance of the cat they called their mother. They can't survive on their own. They need some cat to look after them."

"So you're suggesting you take care of them," Marlo narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," Sienna looked at him, her eyes soft. "Please, Marlo. They're good cats."

He sighed, looking at his paws.

"I know they are, it's just ―"

"Marlo, we're going," Blaze intruded. "Sienna; get out of here."
The blue-grey she-cat looked at him pleadingly, but he stood in front of Marlo with a hard, stony face, and eventually she turned away and padded slowly back towards the cave.

"No time for sentimental talk, Marlo," the ginger tom said sharply, deliberately whisking his tail past Marlo's face in an attempt to annoy the other tom.

Shaking his head, Marlo glared after Blaze and trudged through the belly-high snow, using the tracks of other cats to avoid the energy that he needed to save in order to survive. He knew that some cats wouldn't survive this night.

And for once he felt strangely alone; he'd never been a terribly popular cat amongst his fellow fighters, but never had he been unpopular, and he was surprised that he found no one to talk to. To tell the truth, he was bored of this, having done it so many times in the past few seasons that even imagining coming back to the caves and finding Sienna there became boring and even a laborious task.

"Thinking about coming back home, eh?"

Marlo looked around in surprise. It was Thatcher, Cadence's brother, one of the she-cats who'd been under Star's command before the events of yesterday. He was a little bit smaller than Marlo, but he looked pained and over everything, and his eyes held seasons that he had not experienced.

"Yeah, I guess," Marlo smiled weakly, making an effort to cheer Thatcher up.

Thatcher, however, looked no more happy or excited than he had a few heartbeats ago. His dusty grey-brown pelt and eyes which were no colour in particular were a stark contrast to the side of his pelt that was cruelly scarred from the fire four seasons ago. He was an amiable enough cat, but he wasn't very well-liked because of his burns, something that most cats seemed to have an aversion to. The poor cat was talked about more than he was talked to, but Marlo saw no reason why he shouldn't talk to Thatcher, who spent most of their long training sessions alone. They had never talked very much before, only when they'd needed to, and ever since Dusty, Thatcher's brother, who had rescued him from the flames, had died, Thatcher became more withdrawn and less talkative.

"I'm not," Thatcher answered; his eyes told the whole story.

That place ― the place they had called home for so long was shrouded in memories, and not particularly good ones. Memories that were so painful that no one wanted to even so much as glance back; for that place, that place had so many blackened memories and horrible remembrances that no one really wanted to go back. And Thatcher must have it hardest of all, because that was the place that he'd received his disfiguring burns, the ones that had turned his life upside down. Marlo sighed.

"I know," he said softly. "I don't think anyone wants to go back."

Thatcher looked at him, surprised. There were seventeen of them treading on the crumbling, precarious ledge, carefully averting their gazes from the leering drop below. Most of them strongly believed in Storm's ideology, and so, Thatcher obviously thought, that would make them want to go back and claim what was 'rightfully' theirs.

"And why's that?" the greyish tom asked coolly, with an air that seemed slightly…uninterested?

Marlo narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious. He'd thought he could trust Thatcher, but that wasn't happening; perhaps Blaze had asked the new leader whether he could get someone to investigate Marlo, because someone had witnessed his so-called suspicious behaviour. Thatcher had probably been promised a she-cat of his choosing, a crude reward that had been very popular in the height of Storm's reign. But now that he was sort of back, wouldn't that make that reward plausible?

"You're under orders," Marlo accused him lightly, trying to keep all hints of accusation out of his voice.

"I am," Thatcher replied with a dignified nod of his head. "I don't think you understand it, Marlo. Ever since that fire…" he shivered, closing his eyes, but still padded on. "My whole life was ruined. No one wanted to so much as look at me any more or even talk to me. There was no chance I was going to get a mate, especially since Storm's regime had failed. When this new Storm came, it was like everything I'd ever hoped for, the purpose in my life, had returned also. These burns hurt, Marlo, they hurt me every day, even though they happened seasons ago, and the first thing I remember each morning and the last thing I think at night is the fire, and the pain and torment of me being burnt. I don't want to wake up that way any more. My life wasn't meant to be like that."

Marlo stared. Then he blinked.

"Don't do it this way," he begged Thatcher, truly concerned for the other tom.

Thatcher just stared at him, as if he had said something completely alien to him. Marlo knew that to some cats, their loyalty to Storm was their life; and it was life they'd die to defend. Obviously, Thatcher was one of these cats, and it was most probably spurred on by his horrible injury. And it's all Storm's fault, Marlo thought angrily, if Thatcher hadn't held loyalty above all else, he wouldn't be like this. But this is probably what Storm wants.

The dusty brown tom looked around himself absently, and then leaned closer towards Marlo, desperation suddenly clouding his eyes.

"I don't want to, Marlo," he whispered. "I promise you, I'll tell Storm that you have done nothing wrong and that Blaze was mistaken."

He slipped ahead, and Marlo caught sight of the disfiguring burns on Thatcher's left side, the raw pink flesh making him wince. The dusty brown tom walked with a limp, his whole body tilting to one side as he walked, making Marlo's pity for him increase.

A sudden thought struck his mind, and he dropped back so that he was walking beside Blaze, all the while keepinga sharp eye on the drop below.

"Hello, Blaze," he meowed.

Blaze returned his greeting with a curt nod, although his eyes remained fixed straight ahead, staring at the shimmering blue mountain ranges on the horizon. His muscular body swung methodically side to side as he walked, but his head was still, and his eyes upon the distant horizon. His long claws, which had obviously not been sharpened for a while, scraped against the slippery ice beneath their feet so he was able to hold on. Marlo, too, was doing something similar with his unsheathed claws, although his had a tendency to stick in the ice rather than skim over it. It was easy to tell they were related; they shared the same amber eyes and broad faces, although Marlo's held a softer look when compared to his cousin's.

"Are you alright?"

Blaze stayed silent for a while, and then turned his head towards Marlo with a glare.

"Alright?" he thundered. "Alright? This strange cat turns up, and forces me to keep my sister a prisoner, and takes away all the power I ever had, and you ask me whether I'm alright? Seriously, Marlo, do you think I'm alright?"

Marlo gave Blaze a sympathetic look, but Blaze would have none of it and looked away, narrowing his eyes as if he didn't want his cousin's sympathy. And then it struck Marlo.

"Wait, did you say Storm forced you to keep your sister prisoner?"

"Yes," Blaze meowed cautiously. "It's like he takes over your head, and forcesyou to say something or do something, and you can't control it or change it afterwards. He makes you move your foot, even if you don't want to. Right now, he could kill you. He's alive, Marlo, in a way that I'm not sure how. He's alive in a way that makes him have such a strong will, as if all his energy and strength is in his mind, and there's no way you can overcome him. If you remember, Storm was hardly ever beaten in battle; except by the Betrayer and that silver she-cat who broke his leg. She was the death of him ― if his leg hadn't been broken, he wouldn't have fallen to death in that abyss and died. And there's no way that we could match either the Betrayer or that she-cat in will and strength, even if we tried."

An icy chill swept over Marlo at the mention of the silver she-cat; the adoptive kits of whom Sienna, his mate, had wanted to take care of. Mentally, Marlo cursed himself. When had he become stupid enough so as to let his mate adopt Storm's kits? He couldn't believe himself.

The two cousins walked together in silence, until Marlo felt the strength ebbing out of his limbs, and he struggled to keep up with the ginger tom; Blaze purposely slowed down for him, pretending that he wasn't, so that he wouldn't make Marlo feel bad.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Blaze meowed quietly. "I didn't mean to snap ― I was just a little upset, I guess."

"Yeah," Marlo agreed, although he hadn't been listening and wasn't quite sure what he was agreeing to.

However, it seemed like the right answer, and it made Blaze slow down even more for Marlo, who gratefully but silently acknowledged the other cat's support.

Finally, Marlo couldn't take it, and he stumbled down the treacherous mountain path; it was so dark that he could hardly see anything except the eerie glow of cats' eyes, Blaze's amber ones standing out among the shades of green and blue. Mine must look like that too, he realised, remembering very abruptly that his cousin had the same eye s as him.

"Careful," Blaze said, pulling him up by the scruff in a none too gentle way.

Marlo opened his mouth to thank the other tom, but decided against it when Blaze turned away, expecting no thanks. He gave a fleeting smile, which quickly disappeared as the exhaustion took hold again. He sank to the ground, wondering why he was the one that felt so weak ― why wasn't everyone else struggling to take a pawstep, or even stand up? Blaze seemed quite indifferent to it this time, not noticing that the brown-and-white tom was beyond exhaustion; that was, until Marlo realised that the ginger cat was trying to catch the attention of stony-eyed Storm. When that failed, he yelled above the drill of the wind.

"Storm, we need to stop!" he shouted, but the black tabby tom merely twitched an ear.

Storm kept on walking, and Marlo's hate for the tom increased; unlike Storm, they were actually physically living, and they were the ones that felt each pawstep drain their strength, instead of being a controlling power that oversaw a body. No, Marlo thought bitterly, Storm is one in a billion.

"Keep walking," Blaze hissed in his ear, dragging him up again.

Marlo's eyelids fluttered sleepily, Blaze's words becoming long and drawn out in his mind as he slid down again. He felt the now familiar sensation of his cousin's sharp teeth roughly in his scruff, but despite his efforts, Marlo stumbled tiredly. This time, Blaze didn't bother to drag him back up.

xXx

Marlo was woken by a shaft of sunlight hitting his face, as the sun found its way up through the welcoming hazy red dawn.

He blinked his eyes open and leapt to his paws, only to find that the rest of the group were still sleeping, apart from Storm, who was standing alarmingly still a little way ahead. He realised with great joy that they were at the bottom of the mountain, or quite near the bottom; no cats had wanted to sleep on the sharp rocks that surrounded the base of it. Stretched out before them was a field, its green grass drooping with the heavy weight of the dew, and, milling around not far off there were the fluffy white animals he recognised as sheep. A warm, gentle spring breeze blew towards him, catching up the scents of the flowers that littered the field, spots of colour in a sea of green.

In the distance the tall buildings of East Broadhinny rose before them in all their magnificence, nothing but watery grey shadows with flickering white lights. Clustered around the base were the houses, and each tall building had a whole group to overshadow. Then, rather slowly, the buildings became shorter, and more spread out, opening into what Marlo knew had to be the West Side. He frowned. Quite a few of them must have been destroyed by the fire, because he hadn't remembered it being that bleak. Of course, he hadn't quite seen the extent of the fire, and how the twolegs had failed to put it out ― they themselves could not fight through the choking smoke and burning flames; and they knew that from experience. Somehow, the Guardians of the Night, the new ones, had survived through all of it.

"Enjoying the feel of spring?" Blaze's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Yes," Marlo said, defensively. "What else would I be doing?"

"I don't know, practising battle moves on the sheep?" the ginger tom snorted, coming to stand beside Marlo.

The brown-and-white tom hit him with the base of his toughened paw, and was a little disappointed when Blaze didn't even flinch.

"You have a lot to learn," Marlo replied. "Sheep fur gets caught in my claws."

Around them, the rest of the cats were waking up, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Thatcher rising to his paws painfully, struggling to stay up. He quickly averted his gaze and concentrated on the immobile figure of Storm, who had not moved once since Marlo had woken up. Suddenly, his broad shoulders moved, and he turned to face the cats.

"Today, we will fight," he meowed, his amber gaze falling upon every cat; Marlo inadvertently shuddered when it rested on him. "Today, we will take back what is rightfully ours. Today, we will recreate the real Guardians of the Night!"

They all cheered ― Marlo felt forced to ― and then set off at a quick pace. All his energy was now restored, and the previous night's tiredness now seemed like a distant memory, a faded dream.

His paws thudded over the rocks, and he tried not to wince as his paws were cut and scraped even more as he ran, as showing any sign of weakness would mean he'd probably be pounced on by Storm, or one of the cats who had been a scout before the Betrayal ― they still held a significantly more important position than Marlo, who'd only been a senior fighter, and they could boss around the senior fighters and the junior fighters around as much as they wanted to. He sighed. Revisiting Broadhinny might not be the best idea, because it might stir up old fights, old orders of important. In the mountains all that had fallen away; and they'd all relied on each other to do things, and the formality there had once been wasn't there any more. Now they were out of the mountains, he guess, Blaze would became the most important cat again – the leader of the scouts, the one that Storm trusted the most and relied on at every turn. The strategist, the commander; Blaze was an unstoppable force when it came to fighting, although that wouldn't aid them this time, because this time, it was sixteen cats against who knows how many. They wouldn't have turned soft, he knew as much, because they had the constant threat of the East Siders – he knew of them because Blaze had sent scouts out every moon, and once or twice Marlo had been a member of the scout parties.

"Ah, Broadhinny," Blaze sighed, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the shadowy shapes of the buildings.

The dawn was slowly falling away, giving way to a pale blue, cloudless sky. There was no chance of it raining today.

And, as they slowed to a walk, there was an intake of breath from all the cats; they were about to set foot on Broadhinny soil once more.

Author's Note: Next chapter, I promise you a cliffie, because this chapter didn't have a cliffie! Five reviews again, and sorry for the late update. Let's keep those reviews coming!