The smell of blood had followed Icestar from her dream into the real world. It clung now to her pelt like the stench of the Thunderpath. It might take some serious work to wash herself clean before sunrise.
She dropped Whitefoot's limp body halfway through the tunnel and licked as much of the blood from her paws as she could stomach before carrying on. The light outside the tunnel entrance was blinding, even though it was only moonlight. When Icestar's eyes had adjusted, she peered around immediately for Shortwhisker. He was asleep atop a stone that must still have been warm from the daytime sunlight. Smirking at the old cat's lack of caution, Icestar clambered onto the stone and prodded him gently in the shoulder. He awoke slowly, without even a hint of anxiety, and stretched languorously before meowing in his hoarse voice, "Are you ready? Where's Whitefoot?"
Obviously he had been asleep when Whitefoot had heard Icestar's cry and gone to help, which was significantly to her advantage. Putting on a worried look, Icestar meowed, "She just came down the tunnel to tell me she'd twisted her paw while hunting. I didn't want her to put too much weight on it, so I thought maybe I could ask you to go find something to help her walk while I try to help her out of the tunnel. I know it's asking a lot, I don't want you to endanger yourself…" She shifted her paws in the dust, trying to cover the blood with dirt. Shortwhisker was too blind to see the dark stains on her paws, but she wanted to confuse his sense of smell as much as possible too.
Shortwhisker shook his grizzled head wearily, seemingly oblivious to anything sinister. His implicit trust in her was heartwarming, in a way. "No, no, don't worry Icestar. I can find something around here, I think. Daisy root might help, though I don't know if it will get her all the way back to camp…" he wandered off murmuring to himself, limping slightly on his old bones. As soon as Shortwhisker was out of earshot, Icestar darted back into the tunnel. She buried her teeth in Whitefoot's stiffening scruff and dragged the body out into the open. A trail of blood had been left on the tunnel stones, and Icestar could only hope that no one came to Highstones before the next rain, or at least that no one suspected it was a murdered warrior's blood darkening the stones. A dog might have chased a rabbit down here. The smell would be gone by the morning at least.
The earth was too hard packed to bury Whitefoot anywhere nearby, and Icestar didn't have the time or strength to drag her anywhere where the ground was softer. Resigning herself to yet another crime in the eyes of StarClan, Icestar hefted the she-cat's corpse onto a towering outcropping and then gave a gentle push. First her hind legs, then her torso, and then finally Whitefoot's snowy paws slipped off of the stone's edge and disappeared into the yawning crevice beyond. There was a thud as her body hit the ground far below. No one would go looking down there. The crows would erase any evidence in less than a moon. It wasn't nearly as elegant as Brightpool's murder, but it would have to do. Icestar gave her paws another final lick before going off in search of Shortwhisker again.
Despite the energy instilled in her veins from the night's good work, Icestar was tired. Her paws hurt. Her neck was still sore from the dream wound inflicted by Dreamstalker, and there was still a lingering cold in her muscles that was, somehow, both soothing and painful. She wondered if, this time, it would really stay forever.
She picked up Shortwhisker's trail not far from the entrance to the Moonstone, and followed it towards a patch of trees and bushes that had thrust up from some stubborn patch of earth among the stones. She stopped short of the bushes and saw Shortwhisker crouched under the moonshadow cast by the stunted trees. He was poking around at various weeds growing in the dusty earth, a look of intense concentration on his face.
Not far from the copse was another cliff. A smaller one, not so convenient, but probably good enough. It was just her luck, thought Icestar. StarClan might as well be smiling on her tonight, though somewhere in the back of her mind she doubted it. After all, they had held their silence throughout her communion with the Moonstone. They had abandoned her to crazy Dreamstalker in the Place of No Stars, and had not even sent Frostfire to guide her out. She wondered if it was possible for a living cat to be stuck in the Place of No Stars forever, while their body simply wasted away in the real world. She shuddered.
Shortwhisker straightened suddenly, seeming to have found what he was looking for. He had a bundle of green stems in his jaws, and was turning to go. Icestar steeled herself and began to advance on the copse of trees. As the old medicine cat passed the steep cliff, Icestar leaped. She collided with him heavily, and the old cat let out a gasp as the air was knocked from his shallow lungs. He tumbled twice in the dust and wheezed, trying to regain his footing. Icestar did not let him. She plunged her teeth down and dug into the fur of his neck, biting hard. Shortwhisker did not have the breath to yowl in pain. Only a faint hiss escaped from his lips. He writhed weakly underneath her, but there was no strength in his old limbs. Icestar heaved and pushed, until they stood a mere whisker length from the edge of the cliff.
"Icestar!" the old cat gasped. She flinched, wishing just for a moment that he hadn't recognized his attacker, and then realized with a flush of relief that he hadn't. "Icestar! Whitefoot! Help!" He was calling to her for help, thinking she was far away, unaware of her beloved medicine cat's imminent demise. It was better that way. Much better. Without a doubt, Shortwhisker would float straight up to StarClan. At least he wouldn't arrive there with her name on his lips, like Whitefoot undoubtedly would. Whitefoot was morally ambiguous. She had tried to bar Icestar from joining the Clan in the first place, and was always standing up to Icestar, trying to prevent her from getting her way even when it was for the better of the Clan. Whitefoot wouldn't be missed, not much anyway. There were younger, better warriors to fill her place. Yes, StarClan frowned upon murder, but Icestar had done it before without dire consequences. The murder of a medicine cat, however… not that they wouldn't find out. They could see everything, after all. But Icestar had a feeling they weren't watching her now. They were looking away, hoping not to see what they didn't want to see. It was as much their fault as it was hers. After all, they had given her nine lives. They had given her responsibility for her Clan, and she was taking it.
Shortwhisker slipped off the edge of the cliff with a soundless cry. It was a shorter drop, and she looked over the lip of the stones to see him fall. His end was quick and painless, and Icestar was satisfied. No need to give the ancient creature great pain. He was an intelligent cat, wise in his old age, but he was slow. And he was a hindrance. Icestar needed Sparrowtail to be the medicine cat of ThunderClan, which meant Shortwhisker had to disappear. And now he was gone.
On the journey back through WindClan territory, Icestar took a couple of detours. First she dove headfirst into a thorn bush, biting back hisses as the thorns dug under her fur and tore at her sensitive skin. When she emerged she was covered in bleeding scratches and her pelt wss tangled with dirt and leaves. Good enough. The rest could be worked out later. Next, she grabbed herself a bite to eat. She was tired and not in the mood for hunting, but she managed to chase down a sickly rabbit near the border with ShadowClan. It struggled vainly in her jaws, and she let it kick as she walked along the border, spraying blood onto the grass and gorse around her. Only when it had spent all its energy and it began to grow cold in her jaws did she stop and allow herself a few bites, just to boost her strength. Then she dragged it a little further, spreading the scent across the boundary, and left the body lying open and oozing in the dust. Again, not elegant, but functional. She continued on her way.
The night was quiet, empty. Nothing stirred except an owl that hovered over her head for a little while, smelling the blood on her fur and wondering if she was easy prey. She hissed at it, not that it would be scared off by an angry cat, and kept glancing up each time it passed in front of the moon, half worried that she was still dreaming and the moon and stars might simply disappear at any moment. They stared down, shining mutely, withholding judgment.
It felt good to be doing work again, to be executing plans and setting schemes in motion. The forest was in her paws and Icestar loved it. She couldn't wait to tell Redwhisker everything. Eagleclaw and Redwhisker knew the basic outline of the plan, of course, but she hadn't filled them in on every detail. Their involvement was on a need-to-know basis only, mostly for their own protection. Icestar herself was not infallible, and she knew it well enough. If she slipped, somehow, and the whole thing came crashing down, she didn't want them to be dragged down with her. They could feign ignorance easily as long as no cat had evidence against them. Icestar had made sure there was no evidence. The evidence of her work this night was lying in the shadows at the bottom of two canyons. The crows would pick it apart in a few suns. Only bones would be left, and bones couldn't tell a whole story.
No cat interrupted her nighttime journey. Icestar crossed the WindClan border and was into ThunderClan territory just as the very first lightening of the sky showed on the horizon. Dawn patrol would be setting out soon. Everything was going smoothly. Icestar began to limp. She wanted to get it down before she was seen. She tried a few different gaits, first favoring her left forepaw, then her right, and finally settling on the left hind leg. It was still a bit sore from a muscle strain she had suffering some suns ago, and if she concentrated she could still feel the twinge, and rely on it to tell her what a realistic injury might feel like. She hopped on, occasionally stopping to check her pelt to make sure that it was still bloodied and dirty, and wasn't being washed clean by the dew gathered on the tips of the ferns. The picture was nearly flawless. Icestar appeared to have been chewed up and spat out by a whole pack of dogs, one after another. Her face was bloodied, her flanks were muddy, and her eyes were dim and exhausted. Only half of it was put-on. She was quite tired. The dream had felt like it lasted for seasons, and the rest of the night had been no moonlit jaunt. She didn't need to fake her labored breathing, or the quiver in her shoulders. She wanted to sleep for a moon.
It was Eagleclaw who found her, bounding through the undergrowth not far from Fourtrees with a frightened look on her face. She knew immediately what had happened, but at a single look from Icestar she stayed as silent as a mouse.
"What happened?" she whispered, bending to sniff Icestar where she had stopped to catch her breath at the base of a towering oak. Icestar knew she wasn't asking what had actually occured, but what the story was.
"Dogs," Icestar said through gritted teeth. "On the border with WindClan. They must have come from the Greenpelt place. Whitefoot and Shortwhisker are dead." She twitched her left hind leg, preparing to make a good scene.
"You look awful," observed Eagleclaw, and then without a remark on Icestar's story she darted into the ferns and returned within seconds followed by Stonepelt, Yellowstripe and Graypaw. Stonepelt already looked wild with concern, and immediately fell to licking her filthy pelt. Icestar withdrew from him, feigning pain.
"Stonepelt," she whimpered, and her pupils grew huge and sorrowful. "I don't know what happened- I couldn't- they just-" She stammered, and then dropped her head as if in exhaustion.
"Great StarClan. Whitefoot and Shortwhisker… are they gone?" breathed Yellowstripe, standing protectively close to her apprentice. Graypaw's eyes were wide with terror.
Trying to pour grief into her every move, Icestar nodded, and her three Clanmates stepped back as if they had stepped on thorns. Each one let out a shocked breath. The death of a warrior was one thing. Warriors fell in battle. It was their duty. They knew the risks when they became apprentices. But a medicine cat? Killed by dogs? It was unthinkable. Shortwhisker had been around for as long as anyone could remember. Icestar wasn't even sure any of the ThunderClan cats had been born when he was named medicine cat. The elders weren't even as old as Shortwhisker, as far as she knew. He was as much a feature of the Clan as the camp walls. Stonepelt shook his head as if in disbelief.
"I should have gone with you. I could have protected you. You shouldn't have taken so few warriors." He looked stunned. "I should have gone with you." He repeated.
"How could you know, Stonepelt?" murmured Icestar, dragging herself to her feet. She limped on with the help of Eagleclaw, who stood close to provide her shoulder for support, though she realized quickly that Icestar was faking her leg injury. She stayed where was, looking for all the world as though she were supporting half of her leader's weight. "It was just a routine trip. WindClan is weak. ShadowClan is weaker. I might as well have gone by myself, but I just thought it would give Shortwhisker a chance to see the Moonstone again. He never leaves- left very often." She tripped over the past tense, as if she could hardly believe herself that the medicine cat was gone.
"Was it horrible?" whispered Graypaw. "Were they huge?" Yellowstripe shushed her quickly. For a moment Icestar almost forgot what she was talking about, but then she moaned and answered in a croaking voice.
"I was afraid. I was afraid for my Clanmates. I thought that the dogs might follow me back to ThunderClan, but as soon as they… as soon as Whitefoot…" she didn't finish, leaving the scene up to their imaginations. For the rest of the journey they were all silent, mourning the loss of sweet old Whitefoot and wise old Shortwhisker. As if anyone had really liked them very much while they were alive.
Stonepelt ran into camp ahead of them, and Sparrowtail was waiting by the tunnel entrance as soon as the patrol returned. Only a few cats were awake besides the dawn patrol, seated by the fresh kill pile or sharing tongues, and they looked up in amazement as Icestar stumbled into camp with her entourage. Robinwing, who was lying beside Patchpaw in a place of dappled morning sunlight, leaped to her paws and gave a gasp of horror when she saw her friend emerge from the gorse maze.
"Icestar!" she mewled, and Patchpaw sat frozen next to her, shocked by the sinister sight.
"Get me to my den," Icestar said under her breath to Eagleclaw. "Get them all away. I don't want anyone else to see me." Then she turned to Stonepelt and said in a louder voice, "Stonepelt, continue the patrol. Check the WindClan border; make sure the dogs didn't follow me. I don't think they did, but we can't be too careful."
Stonepelt nodded, though he hesitated, as if he didn't want to leave her. Sparrowtail was already nudging Icestar towards her den. "I'm in good paws," said Icestar, and waved him away with her tail. He nodded once, and then went to gather Yellowstripe and Graypaw, who were waiting by the tunnel entrance, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their wounded leader.
It was cool and dark inside the comfort of Icestar's den, and she sank into her soft moss bed with a sigh of relief.
"Quickly, out of my way," growled Sparrowtail. One of her paws was already swatched in cobwebs, and she had dropped a bundle of various herbs onto the earth beside Icestar's nest.
"Eagleclaw, make sure no one is listening in outside. Keep them away. Tell them whatever you want, it isn't important. Just tell them what I said." She nosed Eagleclaw towards the hanging lichen curtain, and the tabby padded off with an acquiescent nod. Questioning murmurs bubbled outside the den for a moment, peppered with Eagleclaw's terse retorts, and then finally there was blissful silence. Icestar leaned her head back against the smooth earth wall of the den. Success. It tasted like clean rain water on her tongue.
"What happened to you?" Sparrowtail demanded. She had inspected some of the scratches on Icestar's back and forelegs, and her brow was furrowed in confusion. "What attacked you? Rats?"
"A dog," answered Icestar with a heavy breath, stretching out her legs, grateful for the peace and quiet.
"A dog." Sparrowtail's voice was incredulous. She poked with her small, delicate paws at the bloody streaks in Icestar's fur, and tugged at the injured hind leg. Icestar just turned a level stare on her, offering up no explanation.
"And Whitefoot?" Sparrowtail said. Her voice was growing hard, icy, angry. "A dog killed her?"
"A dog, that's right. A big one. Black. Very scary." Icestar tried not to let mirth spill off of her tongue, but it was difficult. Oooh, very scary. Something to keep the kits up at night.
"And…" Sparrowtail was having a hard time speaking. She had backed slowly away, and was pressed against the opposite side of the den, holding her cobwebbed paw off the ground. Her glare was flinty, nothing like her customary gentle look. "And Shortwhisker? A dog got him too, I imagine?"
Icestar shook her head. "Oh no, he fell off a cliff." Her face was stony, but inside she smiled. It was a little bit funny, when you looked at it from her angle. Just a bit.
The breath left Sparrowtail's lungs with a woosh. She dropped her paw, mashing the cobwebs into the dirt. "I don't understand you," she murmured. Her eyes were flat, mystified. "I'm afraid of you."
"Good." Icestar flexed her right hind leg, and unsheathed her claws. She scraped them luxuriously against the earthen walls of the den, bringing down a little shower of dirt and pebbles. "You should be afraid of me. I'm the leader of ThunderClan."
"And I'm the medicine cat now, I suppose," Sparrowtail said bitterly. She did a good job of hiding her grief for Shortwhisker, better than Icestar expected. Perhaps there was more strength in the timid she-cat than she had suspected, or perhaps Shortwhisker really had been less than pleasant company.
"Yes. I'll do the ceremony later, when everyone is back and the news has spread. No body, though, I'm afraid. No burial ceremonies." She inclined her head in mock sorrow. "We'll hold a vigil tonight for them both. I hope you'll say some kind words for Shortwhisker. God knows who will speak for Whitefoot." She snorted.
"Shortwhisker was her father," Sparrowtail said quietly. "And Quickstep's brother. Did you know that?"
Icestar hesitated. That did make her feel a little bit guilty, but only a little bit. "No, I didn't. I'm very sorry. I didn't know that he had a mate before he became medicine cat, or a sister. I wish I had known him better."
"I do too. Then maybe you wouldn't have killed him. He didn't deserve that, Icestar," mewed Sparrowtail.
A gust of wind rustled the lichen curtain as Icestar lunged to her feet and brought her claws down whip-quick along Sparrowtail's cheek. The medicine cat hissed and recoiled. Drops of hot blood fell onto the moss of Icestar's nest. The tortoiseshell she-cat cowered, eyes closed, before Icestar's wrath.
"You will never speak to me that way again. See that Quickstep is informed of her brother's death. Tell her how he bravely tried to defend me from a giant, attacking dog. Tell her how he was pushed tragically from the edge of the cliff while he fought the creature. Tell her he will be remembered as a courageous member of ThunderClan, and wise medicine cat. As I assume you are, also." She leveled an ice-shard stare at the small tortoiseshell, hunched close to the earthen floor, and waited.
Sparrowtail breathed very faintly, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. She seemed to be wrestling with some decision, but Icestar was not worried. There was nothing in the little she-cat that could surprise her, despite her brave words. Fear was a powerful tool, and Icestar wielded it with all the clever precision of a master.
"Yes," whispered Sparrowtail finally. "I'll tell her." She slunk away, tail dragging in the dust, and left her wad of cobwebs stuck to the floor and the herbs scattered underfoot. Sighing, Icestar swept them into a corner with a flick of her tail, bent her nose to tidy the moss of her nest, and finally curled up on the soft pillow. The tension in her muscles drained slowly as she settled, but sleep did not come. Yellow sunlight intruded through the lichen curtain, and Icestar began to imagine voices lifted in anger outside the mouth of the den. Was it possible that any cat might guess the truth? There were some who were not so dim-witted as old Whitefoot. Perhaps she was foolish to underestimate them… But no, she thought. They underestimate me.