Graystar opens his eyes. He is lying on the grass of Fourtrees with moonlight washing around him and the rustle of leaves above his head. For a few heartbeats he relaxes, reveling in the warm air of greenleaf. Then he remembers Fourtrees as he has last seen it, the branches black and stark in the depths of leaf-bare and the clearing thronged with screeching, warring cats.
Abruptly he sits up. He is not alone. The warriors of Starclan line the clearing, illuminating it with the shimmer of their pelts and the gleam in their eyes. In the front rank Graystar can see the cats who had given him his nine lives: Bluestar, Yellowfang, Fireheart, Lionheart…and a newcomer, Whitestorm, restored to his youthful strength, with starlight glimmering in his thick fur.
"Welcome, Graystar," meows the white warrior.
Graystar scrambles to his paws.
"Why…why have you brought me here?" he demands. "I should be back there, fighting to save my Clan."
It is Bluestar who replies. "Look, Graystar."
Graystar sees there is a space beside her. At first he thinks it is empty, but suddenly he realizes that it is filled by the faintest outline of a gray-colored cat. His amber eyes glow so pale they barely reflect the starlight that fills the hollow, but Graystar recognizes him at once.
"You have lost your first life," Bluestar meows gently.
A shiver runs through Graystar. So this is what it feels like to die. He stares in mingled curiosity and fear at the pale copy of himself in the middle of the clearing, and as his gaze locks with the ghost cat's he suddenly sees himself, hunched and bleeding, his fur ragged and the light of desperation burning in his eyes.
Graystar wrenches his head aside to break the contact. There is no time for this. Surely the whole point of having nine lives is so that he can keep going?
"Send me back," he begs. "If we're losing the battle, Bloodclan will rule the forest!" Bluestar stepped forward.
"Patience, Graystar. Your body needs a moment to recover. You will go back soon enough."
"But it might not be in time! Bluestar, why are you letting this happen? Will Starclan not help us, even now?"
The former ThunderClan leader does not reply directly. Instead she sits down, her blue eyes glowing with wisdom.
"No cat could have done more than you for Thunderclan," she meows. "You have the heart of a true clan cat…more than ever Tigerstar or Darkstripe did, for though they taunted you with being a codebreaker, they both ended up betraying the clan of their birth for the sake of their own ambition."
Graystar's paws work impatiently in the grass. What is the use of empty praise? He can not tear his mind away from what is happening in that other clearing, where loyal cats are fighting and dying.
"Bluestar…" The she-cat raises her tail to silence him.
"Perhaps your quarrel with Tigerstar gave you the strength you need," she goes on. "All along, you did what you thought was right, even when your clan mates disagreed with you. You suffered loneliness and uncertainty, and that has made you what you are now…a gifted, intelligent leader with the courage to lead your clan in its darkest hour."
"But I'm not leading them!" Graystar hisses. "And I can't save them—I'm not strong enough. We're going to lose the battle. Bluestar, this can't be the will of Starclan! We've always believed our warrior ancestors wanted there to be four clans in the forest. Have we been so wrong?"
There is a ripple of movement from the front rank of the starry warriors. Bluestar rises to her paws as she is joined by the other eight cats who have given Graystar a life at the ceremony beside the Moonstone. All nine of them encircle the young cat who stands defiantly in the center of the clearing. A voice speaks—not Bluestar this time, but an echo vibrating inside Graystar's head as if all nine cats are speaking to him at once.
"Graystar, you are wrong. There were never four clans in the forest."
As Graystar stares, rigid with shock, the voice goes on: "There were always five."
Graystar fee;s nine pairs of eyes, alight with wisdom, resting on him.
"Fight bravely, Graystar. You may return to the battle now, and the spirits of Starclan will go with you."
The shapes of the Starclan warriors seem to dissolve into light. Graystar feels their strength flooding through him as water soaks into the thirsty ground, and he knows the courage that comes with faith restored.
He opens his eyes. The sounds of battle rush into his ears and he springs to his paws. Straight in front of him he sees Cloudtail battling with Scourge. The young white warrior is on the ground, blood flowing freely from his wounds as Scourge shakes him by the scruff and rakes claws across his flank. But Cloudtail has his teeth fastened in Scourge's leg, and even though he is terribly injured he will not let go.
"Scourge!" Graystar yowls. "Turn and face me!"
The small black cat whips around, letting go of Cloudtail in his shock.
"How…I killed you."
"You did," Graystar spits back at him. "But I am a leader with nine lives who fights alongside Starclan. Can you say as much?"
For the first time he thinks he sees a flicker of uncertainty in Scourge's cold eyes, and at last Graystar understands what Barley had told him. Scourge's lack of belief in Starclan is his greatest weakness. Without belief, without the laws and customs of the forest Clans, Scourge does not have the nine lives of a true leader. When he dies, he will be dead forever.
The Bloodclan leader's uncertainty lasts no more than a heartbeat. He aims a final blow at Cloudtail, dislodging the weakening warrior and tossing him up against the Great Rock.
Graystar launches himself at his enemy. And with every stride, he is aware of the Starclan warriors racing alongside him, matching his pace: Lionheart's golden strength; the lithe, muscular body of Runningwind; Redtail's dark fur, his bushy red tail streaming out behind him; Silverstream's love and strength; Yellowfang with her claws outstretched; Fireheart, swift and determined; Bluestar with all her strength and skill in battle restored.
He seems to cover the ground on winged paws. His claws rake along Scourge's side and he dodges a blow to the head like the one that had claimed his first life. But Scourge is fast. He flings himself between Graystar's outstretched paws and aims for his belly, trying to rip him open with the same flick that had destroyed Tigerstar.
Graystar barely draws back in time. Now he is on the defensive, trying to avoid the gashing claws and still get close enough to Scourge to land a blow of his own. He manages to grip the BloodClan leader near the base of his tail, and the two cats roll over and over on the grass, a shrieking whirl of teeth and claws.
When they break apart Graystar sees his own blood spattering the grass, and knows he has to finish this fight quickly before he weakens again. When the old trick comes back into his mind he scarcely believes it can work against a fighter like Scourge.
But he can think of nothing else.
He digs his front paws into the bloodstained turf, and crouches in front of his enemy as if he is giving in, every muscle tensed in readiness. Scourge lets out a yowl of triumph and leaps at him. In the same heartbeat, Graystar hurls himself upward, crashing into Scourge's belly and thrusting him backward onto the ground. His claws slash through Scourge's pelt and his teeth meet in the black cat's throat until he tastes the gush of warm blood.
Graystar is dimly aware of Scourge's claws flailing viciously at his shoulders but he holds on, raking his enemy's belly with his hind paws until the blows that are falling on him grew weaker. Graystar shakes his head, scattering thick drops of blood from his eyes. He releases Scourge's throat and draws back to deal the death blow from an upraised paw. But there is no need.
Scourge's eyes are fixed on him, dark pits of hatred, and his body jerks convulsively. He tries to snarl defiance, but the only sound is blood bubbling in his torn throat. His twitching limbs grow still and his eyes stare sightlessly at the sky. Flanks heaving, his breath coming in agonizing gasps, Graystar gazes down at his dead enemy.
Who knows where this cat's spirit is heading? Not to the ranks of StarClan, that is for sure.
A skinny black-and-white BloocClan cat is battling with Tallstar a couple of tail-lengths away. When he catches sight of Scourge's lifeless body, the Bloodclan warrior freezes, staring, and scarcely seems to notice when Tallstar raking his claws down the side of his head.
"Scourge!" he gasps. "No—no!"
He backs away, then turns and flees, blundering into another Bloodclan warrior as he makes for the bushes. The second warrior spits furiously and launches himself at Graystar, but before he can attack he too sees the body of his dead leader.
A terrible wailing breaks from him. "Scourge! Scourge is dead!"
As the cry rises above the screeches of battling cats, Graystar sees the warriors of Bloodclan falter and stop fighting. As they realize that they have lost their leader, they turn and flee.
To Graystar's dazed eyes, the Twolegplace cats seem to have shrunk. They are no longer fearsome warriors, but ordinary cats who have no place in the forest: slower than Windclan, duller than Riverclan, scrawnier than Shadowclan. All their menace is gone, and with a cry of triumph the forest cats surge after them and chase them out of the hollow.
Numb with exhaustion, Graystar hardly has the strength to understand that his cats—Lionclan—have won. The forest belongs to Starclan once again.