Chapter 6: Scripted Tragedy

Birchface wasn't quite pleased with Starclan. Sure the hunting fields were plentiful and everything was pristine. The flaw lie with the cats here. Something was terribly wrong with them. Plenty of them were kind, but there was also a fair share that were xenophobic and stuck to their life clans even up here. It was strange to see so many complacent cats. They'd sit all day watching one of their descendants. Some rooted for their chosen cats, but others wished misfortune on them. It was clear that the older cats tended to care less about the living. They gave off a strong air of apathy. They cared not for the living as long as Starclan remained.

There were many things here to find repulsive, and they all involved cats. There was a council of cats who made all the decisions. The rest of the cats here were little more than messengers to the living. They didn't have a say. The council was constructed of famous cats and not cats who had important insight on current matters. It made Birchface sick.

The most disturbing thing about this place was the ominous monolith of black stone. On it were symbols of a sort. Its presence was a scar on all that was holy here. Even the ground around the monolith seemed cursed. The ground was sticky and black. The color would never come out when touched. That was the clearest sign a cat was a council member. They worshiped the thing, painting themselves with the ooze from its base. They claimed it was the source of all prophecy. They claimed it was a holy artifact. Birchface tried to never look at the thing. It just always put his fur on end.

Then there were the pulses. Whenever Starclan used its power, the whole place would shudder and fade a bit. The vibrancy would quickly recover, but something about the place would always be lost. Maybe a rabbit you'd just hunted would vanish before you took a bite. Maybe a branch from a tree would vanish. The worst outcome was for the heavily faded cats. Sometimes after a pulse, they'd become little more than silhouettes. The silhouettes couldn't think or act. They were just an echo of the cat that vanished and they were dangerous. If a cat touched one, it could boggle their mind. They might even begin believing they were the cat the echo originated from. If they were lucky, an echo would be annihilated in the next pulse.

Their choice on what to use the powers on also seemed semi nonsensical. Some pulses were to aid a single clan against another in battle. Some were to warn of foxes or badgers. Some were just to give a favored living cat a piece of advice. The pulse that horrified him the most was when he'd been watching Thunderclan. A low thrum could be heard all throughout Starclan as the artifact was prepared for a grand action. A storm was brewing below. Soon it was pouring on the clans as some interesting events were happening in Thunderclan. Birchface never really liked that I had used his name as a potential father for my kits, but he also didn't despise the use. They were just kits and he couldn't fault me for wanting to protect them. Starclan had wasted a pulse to prove he was not the father. They brewed this storm for a purpose.

Birchface watched me and my kits be cast out with obvious disgust. Why had his clan forsaken the code so clearly? I had broken the code, but my kits didn't deserve such a cruel fate. He hoped against hope the grand event was to my kits' benefit. He watched me rage as we approached the river. He watched me start across the steppingstones. Then the pulse hit. What had they done? He could only watch in abject terror as a wave appeared and swept us away. The field was so faded after that pulse. A smaller pulse followed that pushed me alone to the surface while my kits were left behind. They died and he could hear the council cheering like they'd just rid the world of twolegs. Why? What did those kits do to deserve it?

Birchface raced to where new arrivals appear and swept up my kits in an embrace. He didn't want the kits to see the true nature of their death. He could watch no further knowing only more heartbreak was to follow. He'd seen Appledusk take another mate in cowardice after killing him. He did still love me, but his fear was stronger. Birchface knew Riverclan would be no asylum to me. They'd cast me out all the same. What was the purpose? How can this be what Starclan does?

Birchface only started watching below again when he could tell the council was excited again. What cruel machinations were they up to this time? He watched as they took on the likeness of my kits and sent me whispers. Whispers of revenge and murder. Birchface tried to shield my kits from the horrors I committed in their name, but invoking a name ensures a Starclan cat is watching. He could do nothing as the kits begged and pleaded for me not to listen, but I couldn't hear them. I kept up my atrocities believing I was freeing them, that I was giving my tormenters penance. My victims would arrive and be given honors for their duties. They were encouraged to join the council. It was frighteningly wrong. Finally, when I died, they feasted. They cheered about completing their part in the Grand Prophecy, the Last Prophecy.

Birchface felt so helpless as the council took my soul. I had done all they asked, but they required more. The Grand Prophecy dictated that I needed to be in the Darkforest. Their only confliction was whether to cast all of me or just enough of me into the Place of No Stars to fulfil their purpose. Ravenwing and Appledusk were the deciders. They were still bound up with fury at their murders that they didn't even realize it was scripted. Birchface couldn't let them have their way. I had gone through so much in so little time, that there was no way I hadn't suffered enough. He snuck my kits close to the monolith, not enough to touch the ooze, but enough to influence it. They as a team took control of the monolith briefly. It wasn't enough to reverse what they had done, but it was enough to give me a soft landing. The council never knew. They acted excited that the monolith acted in and of itself. They believed it was like them and building towards whatever the Grand Prophecy was.

Whatever the artifact was, Birchface decided it was evil. What prophecy was worth murdering three kits over? What good prophecy celebrated driving a good mother into a serial killer? Why was the council of Starclan so willing to cast out a cat who followed their guidance perfectly? Birchface couldn't stand it. He decided that it may be worth looking into what other cats detested the council and the artifact.