All is darkness and cold. Graystripe has never been so cold. He feels as if every scrap of warmth and life is being sucked out of his body. His legs twitch as painful cramps clutch at them. He imagines that he is made of ice, and if he tries to move he will shatter into a thousand brittle fragments.

But no dreams come. No sight or sound of Starclan. Only the cold and the darkness. Something must be wrong, Graystripe thinks, beginning to panic. He dares to open his eyes to a narrow slit. At once they open wide with shock.

Instead of the shining Moonstone in a cavern far below the ground, he sees short, well-trodden grass stretching away. Night scents flood over him, of green, growing things moist with dew. A warm breeze ruffles his fur.

Scrambling into a sitting position, Graystripe realizes he is in the hollow at Fourtrees, near the base of the Great Rock. The towering oaks, in full leaf, rustle over his head, and Silverpelt glitters beyond them in the night sky.

How did I come here? he wonders. Is this the dream that Cinderpelt promised?

He raises his head and looks up at the sky. He can not remember it being so clear; Silverpelt looks closer than he has ever seen before, scarcely higher than the topmost branches of the oaks. As Graystripe gazes at it, he realizes something that sends the blood thrilling through his veins like liquid fire. The stars are moving. They swirl before his disbelieving eyes and begin to spiral downward, toward the forest, toward Fourtrees, toward him.

Graystripe waits, his heart pounding. And the cats of Starclan come stalking down the sky. Frost sparkles at their paws and glitters in their eyes. Their pelts are white flames. They carry the scent of ice and fire and the wild places of the night.

He crouches before them. He can scarcely bear to go on looking, and yet he can not bear to look away. He wants to absorb this moment into every hair on his pelt so it will be his forever.

After a time that might have lasted a hundred seasons or a single heartbeat, all the cats of Starclan have come down to earth. All around Graystripe the hollow of Fourtrees is lined with their shimmering bodies and blazing eyes. He crouches in the center, surrounded on all sides. He begins to realize that some of the starry cats, those sitting closest to him, are achingly familiar.

Bluestar! Joy pierces him like a thorn in his heart. And Yellowfang! Then he draws in a familiar scent, and turns his head to see the flame pelted tom he has seen so often in his dreams. Fireheart—oh, Fireheart! His beloved friend has come back to him.

Graystripe wants to spring to his paws and yowl his joy to the whole forest, but awe keeps him silent, still crouching.

"Welcome, Graystripe." The sound seems to belong to all the cats he has ever known, and yet at the same time it is one clear voice.

"Are you ready to receive your nine lives?"

Graystripe glances around, but he can't see any cat speaking.

"Yes," he replies, forcing his voice not to shake. "I'm ready."

A golden tabby cat rises to his paws and strides towards him, his head and tail high. Joy leaps in his chest as he recognizes his old mentor, Lionheart, who had become Bluestar's deputy when Graystripe was still an apprentice and who had died soon after in a battle with ShadowClan. He had been an old cat when Graystripe had known him and was his apprentice, but now he looks young and strong again, his coat shining with pale fire.

"Lionheart!" Graystripe gasps. "Is it really you?"

Lionheart does not reply. When he is close enough, he stoops and touches his nose to his head. It burns against him like the hottest flame and the coldest ice. Graystripe's instinct is to shrink away, but he can't move.

"With this life I give you courage," Lionheart murmurs. "Use it well in defense of your Clan."

At once a bolt of energy sears through him like lightning, setting his fur on end and filling his senses with a deafening roar. His eyes grow dark, and his mind fills with a chaotic swirl of battles and hunts, the feeling of claws raking across fur and teeth meeting in the flesh of prey. The pain ebbs, leaving Graystripe weak and trembling. The darkness fades and he finds himself in the unearthly clearing again. If that is one life received, he has eight more to go. How will I bear it? he thinks in dismay. Lionheart is already turning away, moving back to his place in the ranks of Starclan.

Another cat rises and comes toward Graystripe. At first he does not recognize him, but then he glimpses a dark, dappled coat and bushy red tail and realizes this is Redtail. The ThunderClan deputy, who was murdered by Tigerstar on the very day Fireheart came to the forest as a kittypet, had sought out the truth about his death and used it to prove Tigerstar's treachery. Even if Graystripe had to tell the clan himself and not his friend. Like Lionheart, Redtail bows his head and touches his nose to his head.

"With this life I give you justice," he mews. "Use it well as you judge the actions of others."

Once more an agonizing spasm rushes through Graystripe, and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from yowling. When he recovers, panting as if he had raced all the way back to camp, he sees Redtail watching him.

"Thank you," the former deputy meows solemnly. "You revealed the truth when no other cat could alongside Fireheart"

He manages to nod in acknowledgment as Redtail goes back to sit beside Lionheart again, and a third cat emerges from the ranks. This time Graystripe's jaws drop open when he recognizes the beautiful tabby, her coat glimmering with a silvery sheen. It's his lost love Silverstream, the Riverclan queen who had died bearing his kits. Her paws scarcely skim the ground as she bends down to him. "With this life I give you love," she meowed, her voice soft. "Use it well, for all the cats in your care—and especially for Sandstorm..."

Graystripe purrs, knowing that he has his lost love's blessing to move on and love Sandstorm and that he isn't being unfaithful to her. He braces himself for another agonizing pang, but this time there is less pain as the new life rushes through him. He is aware of a very warm glow of love, and realizes dimly that that was what had marked out Silverstream's life—love for her Clan, for him, and for the kits she had died to give life to.

"Thank you," he mews to her as Silverstream retreats back to the circle of Starclan cats.

He closes his eyes, preparing himself for the next life-giving. When he looks up again, a fourth cat is approaching him. This time it is Runningwind, the ThunderClan warrior who had been killed by Tigerstar in a fight near the Thunderpath.

"With this life I give you tireless energy," he meows as he bows his head to touch Graystripe.

"Use it well to carry out the duties of a leader."

As the life courses through Graystripe he feels as if he is racing through the forest, his paws skimming the ground, his fur flattened by the wind. He knows the exhilaration of the hunt and the sheer joy of speed, and he has the feeling that he could outrun any enemy forever. His gaze follows Runningwind as he returns to his place.

When the fifth cat appears his heart gave a leap of joy. It's Brindleface, Cloudtail's foster mother, who had been cruelly slaughtered by Tigerstar to give the dog pack a taste for cat blood.

"With this life I give you protection," she tells him. "Use it well to care for your Clan as a mother cares for her kits."

Graystripe expects this life to be gentle and loving like Silverstream's, and he isn't ready for the bolt of ferocity that transfixes him. He feels as though all the fury of their ancient ancestors Tigerclan and Lionclan is pulsing through him, challenging any cat to harm the weaker, faceless shadows that are crouched by his paws. Shocked and trembling, Graystripe recognizes a mother's desire to protect her kits, and realizes how much Brindleface had loved them all—even Cloudtail, who was not her own. Like he cares for his kits. Brindleface draws back to sit with the other cats of Starclan again, and another familiar figure takes her place.

Guilt washes over him as he recognizes Swiftpaw.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs as he looks into the apprentice's eyes. "It was my fault you died."

Angry at Bluestar's refusal to make him a warrior, and desperate to prove himself, Swiftpaw had gone out to track down whatever was preying on the cats in the forest. The dog pack had killed him, and Graystripe knows he will blame himself forever for not trying harder to make Bluestar change her mind. But Swiftpaw shows no anger now. His eyes shine with a wisdom far beyond his age as he touches his nose to Fireheart's.

"With this life I give you mentoring. Use it well to train the young cats of your Clan."

The life Swiftpaw gives him is a pang of anguish so great Graystripe thinks it will stop his heart. It ends in a jolt of pure terror, and a flash of light red as blood. He knows he is experiencing what Swiftpaw had felt in the last moments of his life. As it ebbs away, leaving Graystripe gasping, he begins to feel like a hollow in the ground as rain falls into it and spills over. He thinks that his strength would hardly sustain him to receive lives from the three cats that were still to come.

The first is Yellowfang. The old medicine cat has the same air of obstinate independence and courage that had impressed and frustrated Graystripe in equal measure when she was alive when he had gotten to know her. He remembers the last time he had seen her, dying in her den after the fire. Then she had been in despair, wondering if Starclan would receive her even though she had killed her own son, Brokentail, to put an end to his bloodthirsty plot. Now the gleam of humor is back in her yellow eyes as she stoops to touch Graystripe.

"With this life I give you compassion," she announces. "Use it well for the elders of your Clan, and the sick, and all those weaker than yourself."

This time, even knowing the pain he will have to bear, Graystripe closes his eyes and drinks in the life hungrily, wanting all of Yellowfang's spirit, all her courage and her loyalty to the Clan that was not hers by birth. He receives it like a tide of light surging through him: her humor, her sharp tongue, her warm heartedness, and her sense of honor. He feels closer to her than ever before.

"Oh, Yellowfang…" Graystripe whispers, his eyes blinking open again. "I've missed you so much."

The medicine cat is already moving away. The cat who takes her place is younger, stepping lightly, the sparkle of stars in his fur and in his green eyes: Fireheart his friend. He had come to him in dreams, but he had never seen him as plainly as this since Fireheart had been alive. He breathes in his friend's scent as he bends over him. This cat, more than any, was the one with whom he wants to speak with, because Fireheart is the cat he misses most

"With this life I give loyalty to what you know to be right,"

Flashes of Fireheart's life, of proving Tigerstar's treachery flood through him. The time they brought Windclan back home and helped Riverclan during the newleaf floods. There is some pain in this life, but for the most part he feels a vigorous sense of justice and love for the clans. Graystripe realizes that Fireheart loves the clans just as much as any clan-borne cat. He then pads away and Graystripe wishes he could talk to his friend, yearning for their apprenticeship days.

At last Bluestar approaches him. She is not the old, defeated cat he has known recently before the last few sunrises before her death, her mind giving way under the stress of her clan's troubles. This is Bluestar at the height of her strength and power, prowling towards him across the clearing like a lion. Graystripe is almost dazzled by the glory of starlight around her, but he forces himself to meet her blue gaze squarely.

"Welcome, Graystripe, my warrior, and my deputy," she greets him. "I always knew you would make a great leader one day."

As he bows his head, Bluestar touches him with her nose and goes on; "With this life I give you nobility and certainty and faith. Use it well as you lead your Clan in the ways of Starclan and the warrior code."

He shares the fierceness of her ambition, the anguish she had suffered when she gave up her kits, the ferocity of battle after battle in the service of her clan. He feels her terror as her mind fragmented and she lost her trust in Starclan. How she redeemed herself at the very end before her death at the gorge. The rush of power grows stronger and stronger, until Graystripe thinks his pelt will never contain it. Just as he thinks he must yowl his pain or die, it begins to ebb, ending in a sense of calm acceptance and joy. A long, soft sigh passes through the clearing.

All the Starclan warriors have risen to their paws. Bluestar stays in the center of the clearing and signals with her tail that Graystripe should rise too. He obeys her shakily, feeling as if the fullness of life inside him will spill over when he moves. His body feels as battered as if he has fought the hardest battle of his life, and yet his spirit soars with the strength of the lives he has been granted.

"I hail you by your new name, Graystar," Bluestar announces. "Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and Starclan grants to you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for the young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity."

"Graystar! Graystar!" Just as the forest Clans will acclaim a new warrior by name, so the cats of Starclan acclaimed Graystar, in rich voices that ring in the air.

"Graystar! Graystar!"

Suddenly the chanting breaks off with a startled hiss. Graystar tenses, aware that something is wrong. Bluestar's glowing eyes are fixed on something behind him. He spins around and lets out a choking cry. A massive hill of bones has appeared at the other side of the clearing, many tail-lengths high. It shines with an unnatural light, so that Graystar can see each separate bone edged as if with fire—the bones of cats and the bones of prey, all jumbled together. A hot wind sweeps over him, bearing the reek of carrion, even though the bones gleam white and clean.

Graystar gazes wildly around him, seeking help or answers from the other cats. But the clearing is dark. The cats of Starclan have vanished, leaving him alone with the terrible hill of bones. As Graystar fee;s panic and terror welling up inside him, he senses the familiar presence of Bluestar by his side, warm fur presses against his flank.

He can not see her in the darkness, but her voice whispers in his ear.

"Something terrible is coming, Graystar. Three will become one. Lion, shadow and blood will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest."

Her scent and the warmth of her fur fades away as she finishes speaking.

"Wait!" Graystar yowls.

"Don't leave me! Tell me what you mean!"

But there is no reply, no explanation of the dreadful prophecy. Instead, the red light that gleams from the hill of bones glows brighter. Graystar stares at it in horror. Blood has begun to ooze out between the bones. The trickles merge into a river that flows steadily toward him, until the stench of blood clings to his fur. He tries to flee, and finds his paws are fixed in place. A heartbeat later, the sticky red tide is washing around him, gurgling and reeking of death.

"No!" Graystar yowls, but there is no response from the forest, just the steady whisper of blood lapping hungrily at his fur.