The first official update of the Great Divide rewritten: thank y'all so much for your amazing support, it means the world to me, and I hope you like Chapter 1 as much as I do!
The slow, soft thudding of paw steps on the ground were the only sounds for most of the journey. The Moonclan cats trudged on in almost complete silence, despite the occasional mew of a kit. There were only three kittens brought on the journey, the three eldest. They were each two moons old. Other mothers had to leave their youngsters behind with the other Clans, who would not take Moonclan queens. Every night, the cats were haunted by the wails and cries of childless mothers. Darkkit hated it. She watched her clanmates suffer, and was unsure why. She had no idea why her family and friends had been forced from their home, nor why whenever she asked, she was pushed away or hushed. She wondered what had happened to her leader.
What was this "Death" they all spoke of? She asked herself, Where did Ripplestar go? Why is she not here to lead us? And lead us to where? Where are we going? Why did we have to leave? Why did all of those strange cats from the other Clans hate us? Why, mother, why are you not here to answer my questions anymore? Darkkit thought mournfully.
Her mother had been one of the first to "disappear" during the long journey. Before her had been the kits, and the elders, and the sick given to the Clans. Next were the weak, who could not last through the starvation and heat that plagued them, and then came the hopeless and the generous, wasted away from lack of will and selflessness. Her father called it the Walk of Death. Others had picked up on it as well, yet not one would explain to Darkkit what death was. All she knew was that one-day; her mother had been there. Her silver pelt was dull and unkempt, and her eyes no longer held their sparkle, but she had walked side by side with Darkkit, her only kit, and the next day, she was stumbling behind. Her father had told her to keep moving. And Darkkit walked away.
She had looked back, once, before her father had snapped at her and told her not to look behind. And she had seen her mother. The silver queen lay, unmoving, on the dry, dead grass beside the Thunderpath. Her eyes were open, but clouded and unseeing. Darkkit had wanted to call to her mother, to feel her pelt and smell her sweet scent, to feel the warmth of her love. And as much as she willed her mother to get up and follow, as she had the day before, in those few seconds, the she-cat did not move. Darkkit had looked away, and never seen her mother again. It was only now that she realized: she had never known her mother's name.
Her father had become darker and more brooding than before. It was the first day of the Walk of Death that Darkkit noticed it was the longest time she had seen her father ever before. His pelt the color of midnight, and eyes like deep, blue pools full of water. Darkkit remembered then: she hadn't had water since yesterday. Her tongue was dry and sticky. Nor, she recognized the painful gnawing, twisting in her stomach, had she had any food. It had been her mother who had given her the food. And now mother was gone.
"Father?" She mewled, voice small and crackling. She shivered. It reminded her of that old tom who had spoken to them on that stormy night. The night they left. The night Ripplestar lay in a circle of red. The night they spoke of death.
"What is it now?" Her father snapped. Darkkit frowned. Her father was not like her mother. She had been kind, and patient, with warm golden eyes and a soft voice and bright smile. Her father was not. And yet, she knew his name. His name was Nightshade. She knew his name because the others asked him their questions. And he always gave the same answer: 'I don't know where we're going, or how we'll know when we get there. Starclan guides us no more. Now keep walking.' He was not kind, or gentle. Nightshade was not mother.
"Father, I'm hungry. And thirsty. And my paws hurt. When can we rest?" She squeaked, doubling her pace to keep up with the tom's large strides. As always, he refused to look at her. He had refused to look at her since her mother had gone. Darkkit wondered why, but didn't busy herself with the inquiry. It wasn't like he had done it much before.
"We'll rest when it is time to rest." He said sharply. Darkkit frowned pensively.
"But…when is it time to rest, father?" She asked. A low growl rumbled in his throat. Darkkit backed away three paw steps and hid behind his tail. She knew that growl. He had done it the last time he had hit her.
"You will rest when I say you can rest! Now, go off and badger some other cat. Go on! Shoo!" He hissed, aiming a swipe at her. Darkkit, knowing he leaned to the left when he swiped her, dove to the right under his paw and hurried off. She padded along quietly by herself, a far distance from her father. The sun beat down hard on her pelt, and her paws began to drag. She paused, lifting a tiny paw to inspect the sore pad. It was cracked and bleeding, with the course sand of the plains they had been trekking across ingrained in it. She licked it, and it stung. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Don't' cry. She reprimanded herself. She winced. Even in her head, the scolding voice sounded suspiciously like father. He had said the same thing yesterday after she had cried about losing mother. She had waited 'til he slept, and she cried. The next morning, her wet, salty fur had dried in moments under the scorching sunshine. If you cry, he'll hit you, and then you will bleed, like last time, and then you will cry, and then he will hit you again. She frowned. Looking around, she realized she was not at the front of the group anymore. In fact, her father was n where in sight. Shoulder's loosening with relief, she looked around.
Beside her trudged the clanmates. The clanmates who asked questions and always received the same answer. The clanmates that kept walking. It was funny, she had been so immersed in her own thoughts, and she had always walked beside mother, she had walked beside father in the front, she never really looked at the others. When they rested, she would lie beside mother, who would lie beside father. They would stay away from the others. She never knew why. If she asked, she would be hit. It was simple. But…she had never talked to a clanmate before. She knew there were two other kits, and that there were others like mother, and others like father. But they had never before spoken. She watched as they passed her, ignoring her as if she were merely a stone in their path they had to avoid.
They were a sea of different colors. Darkkit knew her colors thanks to mother. In the few times mother stayed in the nursery during the day, she taught Darkkit her colors. There was a large, red tabby tom. Beside him strode a creamy-golden she-cat. Behind them plodded older warriors of gray and white pelts, black pelts, yellow pelts, tabby pelts, brown pelts, spotted pelts and more. There were small cats and big cats. And yet, even as there were so many colors, there were very few cats. In all, Darkkit counted twelve. Plus father and me. She remembered. So, fourteen. Mother had taught her numbers, too.
In the small crowd, Darkkit had spotted those she wanted to see. There was a mother, she knew not her name, with a white pelt. Her white pelt was mottled with orange flecks and dust. Beside her, a kit, Darkkit's size and identical to its mother, padded along slowly. A ginger colored kit swung from the she-cat's jaws.
There are the other kits. Darkkit decided, watching the group move further away up the steep slope she was too tired to climb. Maybe I'll lie here…and maybe, just maybe, mother is walking slow. Real slow. And she will find me when the sun sets, and she will have food. And we will eat, Darkkit yawned, lying down on the hard, dusty ground, And she will know where the water is. And her fur will be silver and soft and shiny again, and her eyes will be light and sparkly. She will curl up beside me and tell me 'Sweet dreams,' and then the next day we will run to the group…father will be happy because mother will be back. He will not hit me. And we will…find…home…She thought sleepily. It wasn't normal sleepy, she decided. It was strange…she felt almost as if she were floating away…But a voice interrupted her haze of exhaustion and hunger.
"You poor thing! He left you to die!" The voice cried out. Darkkit recognized the voice…and the tone. This voice belonged to the small brown tabby mother, who had given her kittens to the scary old tom. She remembered the kittens. There were four of them. They were two days old. The mother had wailed as father had dropped each one at the tom's paws, and the clanmates had to hold her back from lunging for them. They had no father, she remembered. He too had gone to 'Death'. Mother had tried to keep Darkkit from watching as the tabby sobbed and cursed the skies.
Why curse the sky? She wondered, as the floating sensation disappeared and was replaced by weight on her scruff and the feeling of being lifted and swung through the air. Why curse the sky? The sky brings the sun, and the moon. The sky turns pretty colors and shines with stars. Only… She recalled, Father doesn't like the stars. Some of the others did, but he does not. Mother loved the stars. She said they would watch over us. She said…she said the stars would protect me. Those were the last words Darkkit had remembered her mother saying before she lay down for the last time. But still, why curse the sky? It brings warmth…but then, it brings dryness and thirst. And the sky brings rain. I miss rain. Darkkit thought, eyes slowly closing. She felt the ground again, and the tabby's anxious voice sounded above her.
"Don't close your eyes! Stay awake! Please, please, stay awake!" The she-cat whimpered. Darkkit felt a dry, rough tongue begin to lick her back insistently. Her paws twitched to bat it away; she wanted to sleep.
"Stay awake!" The voice mewed, far more insistent now. Darkkit mumbled something unintelligible. Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily in front of her. It smelled…good. Enticing. Darkkit managed to open her eyes wide enough to peer at the thing. It was a mouse. She practically lunged forward, sinking her teeth into the rodent. It tasted better than anything she had ever eaten, and the more she ate, the more the pain in her stomach faded away. But, now she was thirsty. She got to her paws, legs wobbling, and felt something strong and sturdy lead her. Soon, she smelled something damp. The cat that had led her nudged her forward slightly and pressed her head down, until her tiny berry-like nose touched the water. She lapped greedily, filling her belly until she felt as if she would burst. Darkkit was sleepier than ever; she collapsed on the riverbank. The cat carried her away again, and set her down gently. For the first time in a while, Darkkit felt soft fur by her side in the coolness of the night.
"Sweet dreams, little one…" The tabby murmured, "You're safe now," She purred, "Morningdove's got you, sweet. Momma's got you."
Mother…Darkkit thought, falling into a land of dreams…Mother will keep me safe…fifteen. She remembered, Fifteen cats. Mother is home.
The next day, Nightshade announced Moonclan was home. But, Moonclan would never truly be home…
The blinding sunlight bathed the clearing with unbearable heat. The dirt that covered the ground was hard packed from season cycles of paw steps wearily pounding through camp, and with every step, it blew up in clouds of dust, leaving the travelers coughing in its wake. Stray tufts of fur tumbled over the barren dell in the faint whispering breeze that served not to cool, but to blow the dust in the eyes of the beaten cats trekking to their dens.
The dens themselves were made of prickly gorse bushes woven together with dried grasses from the surrounding plains. There was a large one, spanning a fair portion of the sandy open space, and on either side of it were two much smaller, identical structures, their roofs covered in layers of the wide leaves gathered from the scarce, palm-like plants that grew near the silty stream dividing the forest and the grassy moors.
To the right was yet another small shelter, this one woven not only from dried, dead grasses but also the living, growing heather that ringed the camp. Being built into the landscape, it was sturdier than the rest.
To the left of the largest den and the smaller one beside it was a small knoll, made of dirt and clay, with little weedy tufts and small purple wildflower sprouting from the surface. It lay there, still and steadfast, rooted to the dusty ground the same way it had been for years. If one looked close enough, they would realize that this mound was not quite the same as it had been, for there was a small, nearly unnoticeable hole in its side, partially concealed by the flowering gorse beside it. The hole, one would find, led to a wide tunnel which expanded into a cavernous den, much like a badger's, beneath the ground.
To the left of this cave beneath the knoll was a stone. It, unlike the hill, was not small, but quite large. It, like the hill, was rooted to the ground, as it had been for centuries, worn smooth by time. It was a curious shape, smooth and oval, protruding mightily from the cloud of dust like a stone fist. Its sides were slightly grooved, giving it a cone-like appearance from up close. The grooves weren't small; they were wide. Wide enough, one might notice, for a small animal, much like a cat, to walk on as they would a mountain path. Near the top of the stone was a hollow, carved out many, many, many moons ago by ice and time. It was deep into the rock, and bats had liked roost within before they had come and ousted the flying rodents from the cool confines of the cavern.
This was all there was in the clearing, for the occupants could never hunt enough to create even a meager pile in the center, it was all consumed by nightfall, and even then, many went hungry.
In the darkness of the stone cave nestled in the great spiraled rock, a large, handsome tom with a pelt of snow shot through with jagged black stripes lay in his nest, tossing and turning restlessly, mouth opening and closing in silent pleas.
A beautiful she-cat with fur of the darkest possible silver and blazing golden eyes stood in a shadowy glade, the black, hazy shapes constantly shifting, thick gray fog pooling around her paws. Though she did not speak, her gaze betrayed her suffering. It was dark and shaded as the woodland, with tortured golden depths and flicking pupils, wary, as if she were being watched. Her mouth opened, and silver steam poured from it. Her jaws did not budge, and yet a voice chanted in a strange voice, cracking, snapping, and raspy, with hissing, slithering l's and s's, so unlike the one the sleeping tom had always heard:
The one you love, you'll lose,
gaining something even more cherished in the end.
Your cats will be torn within their hearts and thoughts, these wounds not to be healed overtime.
Their bodies will break, blood will be spilled,
there is no turning back.
The clan will broken,
something you cannot stop,
loyalties split
in the Great Divide.
"No, no, no!" He cried, straining towards the she-cat desperately. His paws were rooted to the forest floor, fog pouring over them and slowly rising. The she-cat's jaws closed, yet the silver mist lingered. Her body began to fade into the shifting shadows, leaving only a pair of hollow, glowing golden eyes and the echo of the ominous words resonating in the darkest forest. The silver mist curled up in spirals and the eyes closed, vanishing.
"Darkpool, don't leave me! Tell me! How can I stop the suffering?" The tom wailed. But Darkpool was gone. He was alone, the shadows closing in. The fog kept rising and the mist floated above it, wispy and fragile, nearly breaking apart with every swirl of the great, thick fog. As it rose, it clouded the tom's vision, so he could no longer watch the mist, his only spark of hope, as it, too, was swallowed by the coming darkness. The dense vapor seeped down his throat, choking him, and stung his eyes. It was no normal fog: it smelled rank and sour as the Thunderpath, and it tasted bitterer than any herb. It burned his throat as he gagged upon its stench and thick, unstoppable flow. The fog stung his eyes and pricked at his skin. It blinded him, and he started with fear as he began to hear the screams…
Though he could see no one through the vapor, the tortured howls of his clanmates ringing through the flooded glade.
"Save us Snowstar!" One voice wailed. He recognized it immediately and his heart panged.
"Leopardmask!" He tried to call, but he choked and sank to his knees at the inhalation of the smog.
"Stop them Snowstar!" Another screeched, and his breaths shuddered in his blazing lungs as Yellowstripe called for him.
"Please, please, have mercy! Mercy! NO-" One scream was cut off abruptly and the silence hurt the pale tom more than the yowls. He took a step forward, and, realizing he could move freely now, sprinted through the fog. It slowed him, the sheer density and volume of the never-ending cloud slowing his sprint to as if he were jogging. He pressed on anxiously, fearfully, and yet the voices just seemed further away. Soon, even the dead were calling to him…
"My kits! Save my kits!" A she-cat's agonizing wail pierced the fog. Snowstar's head throbbed from the intensity of her suffering and his heart seemed to split. It was Honeyblaze. They had lost her during kitting, and she had left them with her three stillborn kittens.
"Momma!" A young voice called in anguish. It was the voice of Shypaw, who had drowned last Newleaf. The white tom tried run again, and realized he was once again rooted to the gravelly dirt beneath him. His desperate attempts to break through the invisible barriers separating him from his Clan were in vain. As much as he urged his body forward, willing his limbs to move, he stayed still and alone, the torturous sounds of pain upon his cats filling the air until he no longer noticed the fog, but sank to the ground in agony. Opening his eyes wide, preparing to scream, he stopped. The fog was dissipating…the acidic vapor trickling away into thin air. The shadows of the forest were once again visible, but that was not what had caused his silence. In the center of the clearing, silver mist had returned. It swirled and whirled violently; billowing out until in one enormous swell erupted, revealing a face.
The tom drew back it was so hideous. Upon its ancient face was a muzzle coated in gray, ears shredded, and whiskers askew. One eye was clouded over and slitted, with four long claw scars crossing it to the right, and the tom could nearly imagine the battle it had come from. The fur on that side of the cat's face was gone, and on the other side it was shedding in large tawny clumps. It's second eye was sharp and clear, a hard, cold topaz gleaming brilliantly from the mangled face. It opened it's mouth to speak, revealing rotting, jagged yellow teeth and a tongue split in half with a score of claw marks hanging from the once-broken, grizzled muzzle. The white tom flattened his ears fearfully. The face began to speak, turning it's one seeing topaz eye to pierce him.
"Leave us your young, your sick and your old. They are no use to you, and will not survive the journey," The face croaked, repeating its word from the past "You will travel long and hard and far, and the lives of yours will not be easy. There...there will be a time. A time when your leader will face one of the hardest moments in history." The white and black striped tom shivered. The face continued to speak:
"The one they love, they'll lose,
gaining something even more cherished in the end.
Their cats will be torn within their hearts and thoughts, these wounds not to be healed overtime.
Bodies will break, blood will be spilled, there is no turning back.
The clan will broken,
something they cannot stop,
loyalties split
in the Great Divide." The face finished, whispering in his mangled meow. The tom watched as the mist-formed figure dispersed, separate silver wisps floating off and diminishing into the darkness. The black of shadow swooped down upon the tom, closing in on him quickly. He screamed, memory of the searing topaz gaze and golden eyes burning in his mind.
"Snowstar, Snowstar…wake up," A soft voice murmured. The tom stirred, writhing in his nest like a tortured snake.
"No, no! My Clan, save my Clan! Darkpool! Save them! Help me! What does it mean? What does it mean?" He moaned, paws flailing as he fought the darkness. A soft paw prodded him. "Wha-? Where am I? Darkpool! I must speak to Darkpool! The-the face! It spoke! Leader…fa-face…hardest…moment…in h-history! Mist! The-the fog! Darkpool!" He gasped frantically, scrabbling at the moss and woven grasses with his paws. The claws, unsheathed, slashed violently through pliable nest.
"Sweet, Darkpool is gone…dead for seasons, Snowstar," The voice mewed gently.
"D-Dead? I must speak to her!" He insisted, trying to pull himself up to his paws, as if the dark silver she-cat were standing right outside his den, in the dusty clearing, golden gaze patient and waiting.
"My love, you just had a bad dream, I promise," The soft meow greeted his ears. He turned, and found himself staring into familiar deep dark brown eyes glimmering with streaks of brilliant amber, her face soft and round, speckled with patches of gray brown and black. She comforted him easily, pressing her thick pelt to his, "All is well in the clan, my dearest."
For now, Snowstar thought darkly.
Thoughts? Comments? Anything! :) even a simple 'Good job' or 'Cool story' or even 'Nice' for my fellow lazy people out there would thrill me!
During Darkkit's narration in the beginning, and Badgerstar's appearance, I thought about the song 'Centuries' by Fall Out Boy (I love them.)
Anyway, this took forever to write, so expect and update maybe once a week? School is tough and field hockey is tougher, so I don't really know what's up or down or right or wrong right now. Clearly, from my Geo test score...
Until next time, I'm Brighteyes, and you are my fabulous, forever adored readers! Love y'all!