Disclaimer: I own only what was not in the books

Chapter 9: Assassin

Riverstripe almost felt herself panting as she waited for Crag to speak. She wished Wren were here. He would put a smile on her face.

At last he growled, "I have taken into opinion of the others, but my decision is final. The Clan cats will be allowed to stay." Riverstripe barely managed to keep from sagging in relief. Beside her Thunderfoot let out a grateful sigh and Windheart's shoulders slumped. Even Shadowpelt looked relieved. Crag went on. "You will be welcome here as long as we see you pose no threat. Leave now, all of you. One of your Healers is ill."

Windheart followed Frost, heart pounding. Whitefoot was sick. She was the oldest of the Medicine Cats and had taken worst to the mountain. Sliding behind the curtain of ferns with a muttered thanks to Frost, she hurried over to her foster mother.

The old gray, white-pawed, tabby lay on her side in a bed of moss and feathers, twitching and mumbling. Her breath came in short ragged gasps and Windheart noticed with a sickening jolt that her bones stuck visibly through her dull pelt. Normally plump and sleek the old cat looked like she was on her deathbed. Windheart began washing her vigorously. She didn't know how this would help, but she had to do something. How long had Whitefoot been like this? All the cats had lost weight, but not this much!

As she swiped her tongue over the cats ears she realized that the mumbling was not unintelligible. She seemed to be chanting something. Windheart hesitated, then leaned closer.

"Son of Thunder
Lord of Shadow
Wind of Ages,
River's Daughter
All shall witness brutal slaughter

The doom of the Old Clan, the birth of a New
The Fate of all is two and two.
Answering to the Clan of Star,
Who they were and who they are.

They shall flee from friend and foe,
Chased o'er mountain of rock and snow.
Through the lands where harsh winds rage
And across the realm of timeless age.

Beware you, Lord of Death and King of Hate
For with these four is tied your Fate
'Tis your demise that they are born
Saviors after years of scorn.

River's eternal, flawless grace
Wind's unrelenting, breakneck pace
Shadow's strength, and Thunder's cry,
Shall bring the Time of Changes nigh."

As soon as she finished, the Medicine Cat would begin again. Windheart was soon lost in the chant, as it filled her ears and heart and she was swimming in a sea of long forgotten memories.

Four kits ran ahead of a tabby she-cat, looking scared and lost. There was no sound but the pounding of their paws on hard dirt and the pant of their breathing. The she-cat glanced over her shoulder. When she turned back it looked as if she had seen a ghost.

Windheart, who had been running beside them, turned around and gasped. A mass of hulking, snarling cats was steadily gaining on them. She tried to urge the kits forward but she may have been stone for all it did. They didn't seem to hear her. She looked back over her shoulder, panic welling in her chest. The cats were only a fox length behind!

She spun around to face them. She would protect theses kits with fang and claw if necessary! They ran right through her. She couldn't be seen or heard or felt! A voice, as if all the cats she had ever known, yet only one voice, rang through her ears. She looked up as if at the sky and the stars moved and twisted in their posts. The voice seemed to come from them. "This is the past. What is done is done. You cannot change it."

Windheart opened her mouth to yowl an insult when a painful shriek broke out behind her. She spun. The cats had caught up with the she-cat! They had pinned her to the ground and were now frantically trying to catch her kits. One pounced on the silver tabby and raised a paw, claws unsheathed, for the kill.

Suddenly a black and white queen leapt out of the undergrowth that edged the side of the strangely smooth dirt path. She tackled the tom holding down the kit, and pushed him into the one holding down the she-cat.

"Nena, run!" she howled, throwing herself at another opponent. Without wasting a moment, the tabby mother heaved herself to her paws and sprinted for the woods, herding her kits in front of her.

Windheart was torn. She wanted to see the kits to safety, but what about the queen? At last she sprinted after the mother. But no scent had been left, no tracks. The whole forest began to fade around her as the scream of a dying cat struck her ears from behind her and the black and white queen fell for the last time.

Only the stars remained as the voice rang in her ears, chanting, "Son of Thunder, Lord of Shadows, Wind of Ages, River's Daughter." Slowly the voice melted into one, Whitefoot's, and Windheart's eyes snapped open.

Whitefoot lay in the same position, unmoving and stiff. Windheart knew she was dead. But she had not died in vain. The old Medicine Cat had shown Windheart her past. She did have relatives. But they were not in her Clan. They were the most important cats of all the others. Thunderfoot, Riverstripe, and Shadowpelt.

"She couldn't tell you. She didn't have the energy. So she showed you." Bristle voice was a low murmur as the new-found siblings stared at her. "So that's where this scar came from," Riverstripe murmured. Thunderfoot blinked as he remembered his vision. What-, or who-, ever had shown Windheart the vision, had shown him one too. That's why he had saved Riverstripe. His head had had no idea of the truth, but his heart had known the whole time.

"The prophecy though. Is it true?" Moren answered. "It seems like it is. Son of Thunder is Thunderfoot, Lord of Shadows is Shadowpelt, Wind of Ages is Windheart, and River Daughter is Riverstripe. Your Clans were murdered by wolves and we are crossing the mountain of wind and snow. The pieces fit."

"What I want to know," Fernpelt mewed softly, "is;who are the 'Clan of the Star?' Windheart said that the stars seemed to speak to her. That must mean something. And Whitefoot's voice was one of them when she died."

Thunderfoot opened his mouth to speak when several Storm Treaders hurried in, covered in snow and accompanied by a scrawny, scared looking tom. He glanced around nervously and as his head moved his scent was flung into Thunderfoot's nostrils.

Immediately his blood began to boil. How dare this cat! Under the smell of rot and crow-food was the unmistakable scent of the cats that had attacked the camps. Without a thought he launched himself over the heads of the Storm Treaders and bowled the skinny tom over. Pinning him easily to the ground he slammed unsheathed claws into his face while his hind legs tore up fur and skin. The tom yowled in pain, his cry growing louder by the second until Thunderfoot felt teeth in his scruff and he was gently dragged away.

He didn't fight. The savage ferocity was gone, replaced with sadness. He slumped to the ground where Shadowpelt released him and didn't move or look up as the cat was taken away.

"I swear that's all I know!" the skinny tom pleaded. Riverstripe watched with cold satisfaction as the pathetic excuse for a cat cowered away from his interrogators. She had had no idea why Thunderfoot had attacked him until he was calm enough to explain. The rage in Shadowpelt's eyes and the hate in Windheart's had matched her own.

"So your saying that your leader, Screave, used his second, Dogheart, who has the gift of tongues, to form an alliance with the wolves. Their help for our meat. He was after us because he thinks we are going to be the end of him and his Clan."

"Oh, he doesn't care about the Clan ma'am. As long as he lives, it doesn't matter how many die," the assassin interrupted.

"Well, we would have left him alone, if he had given us the same courtesy," Shadowpelt snarled, full of bloodlust.

Windheart quieted him with a stern glare and continued. "When he found we had escaped he sent search parties after us. And that's all?" The tom nodded.

Thunderfoot spoke this time. "Very well. We could have you killed." Shadowpelt hissed happily at this, "But we won't." Everyone stared. Riverstripe couldn't believe her brother. She blinked. It still felt odd to call this still strange cat her brother.

"What?" Shadowpelt hissed. "After what he did to all of us, we let him live?" Thunderfoot shrugged. "Do you really want to sink to their level. His life here as an outcast will be far worse. He will have years to think of what he's done, all by himself."

Crag, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke. "Thunderfoot is right. Do you really want to demote ourselves by acting as him?" Riverstripe sighed. She herself wanted no more than to sink her claws into his fur, but Thunderfoot and Crag were right. He would have to be spared.

a/n- short I know, I'm in a hurry. Please r&r!