CHAPTER 66-Uprising

The only thing I could hear was the roaring in my ears that pounded into my head like knives. The crowd surrounding the ring barked and howled like a pack of hyenas. Sandstorm took a step forward. Her eyes connected with mine, and a surge of despair bolted through me when I saw the look in her emerald gaze.

"Don't do it," I whispered. She didn't hear me. She couldn't have.

Sandstorm sat back down on her haunches and surveyed the crowd, her eyes fierce and unflinching. This was the Sandstorm who had lived for countless moons, who had fought side-by-side with Firestar and had lived the life of a true warrior of ThunderClan.

Raising her voice, she yowled, "You flea-bitten bags of filth! Rotten mouse-hearted cowards! You're worse than rogues, you know that?"

A stunned silence filled the entire room.

With eyes like green fire, she snarled, "I'd be insane if I'd let myself play into this twisted game of yours."

She crouched down and unsheathed her claws. "What are you waiting for, then? Fight me!"

The dogs exchanged confused glances. Never had this ever happened before. A cat challenging a whole Pack? Unthinkable.

One of the foxes stared down at her with a stone-cold expression and barked, "If you continue on with the Pitch, I will forgive you and pretend that this outburst never happened." He gestured to me with his tail. "I order you to fight her."

I tried to plead to her with my eyes. "Sandstorm…" I whispered desperately. She could fight me. She could mar my pelt with scratches as long as it meant that she would live.

Instead, she growled back at the fox and hissed, "Attack a Clanmate? You might as well kill me."

To my horror, the crowd heaved themselves to their paws and slowly bounded down to meet her.

I yowled, "Sandstorm! Get out of there!"

Instead, she pressed her forehead against mine and whispered, "You're young, Shadefrost, and you're strong. You've got everything to live for. Now go. The Clans need you."

I watched in horror as she stepped backward, letting the flood of foxes threaten to drown her.

After a period of silent horror, I gulped and turned away, not allowing myself to see her end and the joy on the faces as they ripped her apart.

A surge of legs collided with me as I struggled to move against the current of claws and teeth. Luckily, they were so eager in reaching the pit that they all seemed to have forgotten that I was there.

Their beady eyes were wild with excitement and their tongues lolled out their mouths. Their faces were an expression of murder.

I dodged the wave of black fur and hurried as fast as I could out of the wretched Pitch.

Where were Hazeltail and Graystripe? I looked around frantically, searching for them, but they had been lost in the sea of dogs and badgers and rats.

I had no choice but to leave them behind, and every step cut deep into my heart, as sharp and raw as knives. And the fact that Sandstorm did this so I could escape hurt me the most.

OooOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOo

Spottedpaw had trudged through these sullen tunnels for such a long time, he had forgotten exactly how long. Was it months? Or years?

None of that mattered to him anymore. His heart was heavy. For as long as he could remember, his heart was empty and weighted down.

He had heard, a few hours ago, that a cat had escaped from the Pitch and was now wandering around unguarded in the tunnels. His brow wrinkled. What kind of cat would dare do such a thing? Who had so much courage that they dared to disobey the laws of the foxes?

Maybe that cat would save him and bring him out of the tunnels. For a second, he allowed himself to wish that with all his heart, but then his spirits fell again. No one would save him. No one was there for him. He was doomed to be trapped down here his whole life.

A couple of foxes scuffled past him, pushing him to the ground as they passed. They snickered when he didn't say anything.

Heaving himself to his paws, he dusted himself off. He was used to being jostled around by his superiors, and one more scrape wouldn't hurt.

He paused. Was it his imagination, or did he hear soft pawsteps coming his way? They were light and fast and slightly panicked, going step, step, step against the ground.

Badgers lurched heavily when they walked, and foxes and dogs both padded slowly with their nails clicking across the floor. Instead, these were different. Could it be a cat?

Spottedpaw stood in surprise when a black she-cat came into view. Her brown eyes darted wildly across the tunnels, as she had obviously been through something that had shattered part of her soul.

She froze, one paw poised in the air, when their eyes connected. His green ones widened.

She was scared; he could tell by her shaky breath, her quivering pelt, the tortured look in her gaze. What horrors had she seen in the Pitch?

Spottedpaw hesitated. He really should be taking her back and reporting her to the Judgment. He had done it countless times before. This shouldn't be any different.

Yet, it was. How often did one come across a lean, thin black cat with eyes so dark they looked like the night sky? His breath caught in his throat, and in those two small hazel pools, he saw himself reflected in their depths. He saw that small, stick-thin tawny tom with blotchy leopard patches running down his spine. He saw the various scabs and scratches marring his body.

The eyes are the windows to the soul, he remembered his mother saying in her sweet soprano voice. What would he find if he happened to peer in a little deeper?

The she-cat gulped and took several shaky steps backward, her back arching into an act of defense.

Spottedpaw blinked and said as softly as he could, "I'm not going to hurt you." His own voice surprised him.

He looked around nervously, wondering if any other being had heard him. He really should be reporting her…

"Hey," she whispered.

His ears perked up. Her voice sounded like the crisp hush of the wind, the quiet sigh of clouds and rain and gentle spring breezes, like the voice of the stars that he had missed for so long. It sounded like the song of crickets that never ended and only started up again like a promise of forever eternity. What was a voice like that doing down here, in a place like this?

He wanted to hear it again. More than anything, he wanted to sit down next to her and hear the breath in her voice and peer down into her eyes to see her soul resting within her. He wanted to sit next to her in silence and just watch the world go by without him.

The black she-cat hesitated, her ears folded back against her head, and then mewed, "I know I shouldn't trust you. But please, if you can…could you tell me what the foxes will do to me, once they find me again?"

He swallowed nervously. He didn't expect her to ask him that.

But he hadn't talked to a cat in so long…

"They'll take you," he meowed. "And show you to the Judgment. If you're lucky, the punishment will be for you to go back to the Pitch again and finish the match. But more likely…you'll be put to death. You'd be executed and humiliated, in front of a large crowd of foxes and dogs and badgers. Death with no honor." He paused and cringed, remembering. "Or they'll…" His voice lowered. "Or they'll drag you down a tunnel deep underground, the deepest tunnel the badgers have ever dug. They'll…they'll sacrifice you. To the Darklings. It's not pretty."

She shuddered, as if she knew what it felt like to be touched by a Darkling. Spottedpaw noticed a long scar snaking from her chin all the way down to her side. What had she been through?

She closed her eyes and sighed. "They'll find me. I can't keep running forever. But there are still so many things left that I have to do…" She tipped her head sideways, as if she was confused as to why she was talking to him.

"Hey," she said softly. "You're Spottedpaw, right? I know what the Clans think of you. They call you a traitor."

Spottedpaw stiffened. He had heard those painful words from his Clanmates, and he tried to ignore the aching it gave to his heart. But now, the words cut into him as sharp as thorns.

She continued, "You don't look like a traitor to me. Cloverstream still remembers you—"

He blurted, "M-my Clanmates still remember my name. They still remember everything about me, and I remember them too. B-but, they don't want to see me. They never want to see me ever again."

He lowered his head in shame and clenched his eyes shut. To his surprise, he felt warm breath on his ear and the soft feeling of a tail winding around his shoulders.

"Cloverstream doesn't hate you," she mewed gently. "I saw it in her eyes. She misses you. It hurts her so much to miss you."

Spottedpaw's green eyes softened when he heard her name. Cloverstream, the cat with the sweet soprano voice.

"Could you do something for me?" she asked suddenly. "I-I won't be able to be here for much longer."

Before he could say 'yes' or 'no', she continued, "There's a cat trapped down there, named Dewstep. He's the dark grey tom you saw this morning. Tell him you saw me, and tell him to get out of there as fast as he can. He doesn't have to worry about defeating Fang, as long as he escapes from the Tunnels."

Spottedpaw blinked.

The black she-cat sighed. "I know I won't be able to save the others. I suppose I came too late. But as long as he lives…"

Her voice trembled, yet she still held her head up high. She didn't seem like the kind of cat who would give up.

He stiffened. "They're coming."

A pack of dogs surged into the room, and in a matter of seconds, they were surrounded.

One of them barked, "Spottedpaw, don't stand there like a half-wit. Tell this to the Judgment. We will bring her there soon after."

He stiffened and glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. A large hound clamped her scruff tightly between its jaws and shook her lightly. She winced.

Catching Spottedpaw's eye, she nodded, her face grave. She meowed, "Spottedpaw, before I go, I need to tell you something about Emb—"

The hound shook her again, harder this time, as if she were a piece of fresh-kill.

Not wanting to see them haul her away, he turned and fled, his paws scratching lightly against the parched, underground dirt.

OOooooOOoOOoOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoOOoOoOOO

The only thing Dewstep had on his mind was Shadefrost. He still remembered the scene from that morning as if it had happened only a few minutes ago: the dog dragging her away, the fox holding him down, the snarls, barks, and dreadful howls, and in the end he was powerless to stop them.

The deep, ragged wounds that they had inflicted along his side didn't sting as much as before. He traced it with his paw, wincing.

The anger had long ebbed away, but he longed to do something to get her back. He owed it to his brother to keep her safe.

"Pacing around won't help with anything," Heathertail growled. "You're wearing a hole through the ground."

He wanted to snap at her and tell her to shut up, but caught himself just in time. Yelling wouldn't help either. Heathertail had lost all hope, but he wouldn't lose his.

Cloverstream suddenly started to tremble violently. She wrapped her tail closer around her body as she clamped her teeth on her tongue, trying not to yowl.

"What's wrong?" Dewstep demanded.

She gasped, trying to breathe, trying to get in more air while her eyes looked on in a panicked state. "The kits…The kits are coming!"

Reedwhisker immediately leaped his paws. "You mean now?! Right now?!"

"Stay calm," Dewstep meowed, although his heart fluttered violently like a wounded bird. He knew next to nothing about taking care of kitting queens.

Cloverstream writhed and groaned. Heathertail leaned down and whispered something in her ear, trying to comfort her.

Dewstep asked desperately, "Can't we tell the foxes?"

With a surge of energy, the queen snarled, "I won't let those mangy brutes lay a claw on my kits! I won't allow them near me!" She squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of pain collided with her body.

He panicked, his tail fluffed out like a squirrel's. He started to pace around frantically. What to do, what to do? What would a medicine cat do? He didn't have herbs and hardly had any experience. He was a warrior, trained to fight and protect, not to deliver newborn kits!

Reedwhisker yowled, "Don't just stand there! Just do something!"

Cloverstream convulsed, jaws parted in a silent wail, and thrashed around violently. There was no sign of any progress in her kitting. At this rate, the kits would never come, and mother and kit would both die in the process.

Dewstep's amber eyes flashed in sudden determination. No matter what happened, he would not allow another cat to die. Not when he was around. Shadefrost would never forgive him.

Blocking out all of the other thoughts, he padded forward and loomed above the writhing form of the queen.

Sucking in a deep breath, he calmed his spirit and then leaned down.

He placed a paw on her swollen belly.

"Just relax," he told her. "Just focus on breathing. In and out, in and out." She gasped for breath.

"That's it. In and out, like the way the earth breathes."

At least she seemed calmer now. She stopped thrashing and curled up, whimpering softly.

"Just stay calm, alright? You're going to be fine, just fine. I'm going to help you." Now, what was he supposed to do next?

Her green eyes were clouded over in pain and fear. She was still afraid.

"I'm the medicine cat now," Dewstep meowed. "I'm not panicking anymore. I'm calm now. If the medicine cat isn't worried, then you shouldn't be either. Trust me."

She relaxed, ever so slightly.

The kitting continued on for several hours until Dewstep wasn't sure if it would ever end. There was a whole deal of hushed whispers and comforting murmurs and aches and pains and panicked voices.

And then the kits finally came.

"Oh…" Dewstep whispered. The kits were absolutely beautiful.

Cloverstream panted lightly and asked wearily, "Are they okay?"

Heathertail breathed over her shoulder, "Oh, don't they look gorgeous?"

"I want to see them."

She swept the two mewling newborns with her tail and pressed them to her belly.

With tears in her eyes, she purred and nuzzled them gently. "My kits. My darling kits. Shhh, don't cry, I'm here. I'm here."

Dewstep felt a familiar pang in his heart as he watched the warm scene.

"You…you did it," he mewed.

The others crowded around them closely, admiring and congratulating the tired queen.

After a while of silence, Cloverstream said suddenly, "Dewstep. I want you to name them for me."

He stepped back, startled. "Wh-what? But they're your kits. I really shouldn't."

"But I want you to. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Um…sure."

He leaned down and breathed in their new, milky scent. The smaller one mewled and nuzzled deeper against the fluff of her mother's belly. "I'll name this one Frostkit." Her brother was asleep. His tiny chest rose with each breath. "And this one will be Blizzardkit."

Dewstep was thinking of his own brother, about the life that he had left behind and the life that he never got to live. It pained him.

Cloverstream sighed with content. "Frostkit and Blizzardkit. It's perfect. Thank you, Dewstep."

The sound of approaching pawsteps snapped their heads up to attention.

Spottedpaw crept up to them slowly, cautiously putting one paw in front of the other.

Heathertail unsheathed her claws. "Back off!" she hissed. "We don't need to see a traitor like you."

Dewstep stepped in front of her. "Wait," he growled. "Let's just see what he wants."

Reedwhisker spat, "I don't want to listen to anything he wants to say!"

Cloverstream looked away and pressed her kits closer against her body.

Spottedpaw's eyes widened. Ignoring the hisses and snarls from the others, he slowly padded forward, as if in a trance.

He tried to peer over Cloverstream's shoulder.

"Were they just born?" he asked quietly. The queen flicked her ear but said nothing.

Reedwhisker scoffed, "Don't ask as if you care."

Spottedpaw's eyes hardened and he pulled away.

"I came to bring you a message," he mewed.

Heathertail warned, "Don't listen to him. It's a trap." Dewstep silenced her by raising his tail. "I'll listen."

Spottedpaw blinked gratefully. "I met a black she-cat. She told me that you'd be here, and she said to escape when you can. She said not to kill Fang, and that all that mattered was getting you to safety."

Dewstep's breath caught in his throat. He padded forward and faced him. "You saw Shadefrost? Where is she? Is she alright?"

Spottedpaw trembled underneath his stone-hard glare.

"Tell me she's alright!" the older tom snapped. "She's alright, isn't she?"

"I—she-"

Before he knew what was happening, Dewstep had unsheathed his claws and pinned him to the ground. The apprentice yelped sharply when the claws penetrated his skin.

"Tell me," the older tom growled, their faces only inches apart.

Spottedpaw gulped. How had he gotten himself in this mess?

Flattening his ears, he whispered hoarsely, "They…they took her away to see the Judgment. I—I'm sorry. There wasn't anything I could do…"

Dewstep felt a tail tip on his shoulder, but he didn't turn around.

Cloverstream whispered, "I'm so sorry, Dewstep. Shadefrost is gone now. Once a cat gets sent to the Judgment, it's over for them."

Dewstep's eyes were two amber pools of liquid fire. His tail lashed behind him like an angry whip.

Finally, stepping back, he let the apprentice go, and Spottedpaw gratefully staggered to his paws.

Dewstep's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why didn't you help her?" he asked.

"Th-there wasn't anything I could do."

He couldn't keep his voice from rising. "Of course there was something you could do! The only thing you did was watch as they took her away! That's the only thing you ever did! And you call yourself a Clan cat?"

Spottedpaw stiffened as he felt raw rage course through his veins. Great StarClan, when was the last time he had ever felt anger? He knew sadness and resentment and pain every day since he had been a kit, but never anger. He wondered how it could scorch him and freeze him at the same time.

Dewstep took a step back, eyes wide, when the apprentice rounded toward him.

"What do you know?" Spottedpaw yelled. "How do you know what I feel? I've been pushed around and spat upon, and don't you think I would do something if I could?"

His shoulders sagged as he panted heavily.

There was a moment of stunned silence in the room.

Dewstep's eyes narrowed again, but in a different way. Spottedpaw's ears tilted up in surprise when he heard a low chuckle.

The dark grey warrior grinned, slowly. "Well, what do you know. You still have some fight in you. What do you think will happen if we put the fight to good use?"

As the apprentice listened, wide-eyed, Dewstep sighed heavily and continued, "Shadefrost is gone, as you say." His amber eyes clouded over with grief. "Two of my friends are dead. That leaves me as the sole survivor. And now it's my job to save the Clans they loved so much. Shadefrost would have wanted me to…"

He shook his head, as if snuffing out memories. "I'll grieve for her later. Right now, we have something important to do."

Turning to the queen, he asked, "Is it alright for you to walk?"

She nodded and mewed, "I'll carry the youngsters."

Reedwhisker's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Are we going somewhere?"

"We're going home," Dewstep said, grinning.

Heathertail growled, "You can't be serious. We'll get ourselves killed."

"Then at least we'll die trying. We're warriors. We fight to the end no matter what happens." Turning to Spottedpaw, he meowed, "What do you say, Spottedpaw?"

Spottedpaw paused, green eyes widening into two moons. He was going to be free? Free at last?

Lowering his head, he mewed quietly, "I'm coming with you."

Heathertail growled, "You can't trust him. He's with the foxes now."

Dewstep rolled his eyes and replied, "Shut up about that nonsense. He's not evil. Not evil at all. And there is no way that I'm leaving even one cat behind."

He unsheathed his claws and dug them deep into the floor of the den. "The battle starts now."