ROSESTAR
They crossed back over the stream that marked the outer border of MireClan territory, sloshing through the sluggish, silty water in the shadow of Clawtower. Sunup came with the first dawn comets, fiery showers raining down from the blood and sleet colored sky.
Rosestar led them up the narrow trail that ringed around Clawtower, ringing up, around and around, to the sacred hollow of trees and the four Greenstones.
Treachery. They waited for word from Rooktuft, running somewhere across HillClan's hunting grounds even now, trying to track down their allies. Word from camp, reinforcements from Elderheart and his loyal warriors. Maybe Briarstalk and Greeneyes would link up with them there.
The old medicine cat had met them at the border, Murkpool crouched and trembling with fear at the spectacle of falling stars above.
The clearing looked strangely empty now, without the masses of cats from all four Clans. He sat in the shadow of one of the stones, eyes inclined to the heavens, sitting in silence. If he stood at the cliff's edge, he would see LeafClan's forest, the proud crowns of the trees fired with light.
The falling stars transfixed him, hackles raised, shivering in the sunup gloom.
His warriors gathered near him, half-obscured in shadow. Splitears and Asterstripe, Paleface, Larkfeather after her flight from camp, Jaywind, Dovepaw, and Thrushpaw, Murkpool the medicine cat.
"There lies home," Paleface said, gazing out over LeafClan territory. "I'll be glad to be on our own land again."
Rosestar's legs were so weak, he stumbled forward, almost planting into the grass. All the other warriors started up, but he just knelt in the grass, as if in prayer.
"Yes," he mewed. "We will draw strength from our own land. No one threatens LeafClan territory without rebuke."
His warriors exchanged glances, with Murkpool nodding solemnly. The old dark gray tom blinked watery blue eyes at him from the dark, head gently bobbing. "Stay assured, Rosestar," the medicine cat wheezed. "The powers that made you leader have the power to keep you leader, against any threat. I mean your warrior ancestors."
Keeping his place as leader? Was that even a question?
Let them strip his nine lives from him and try.
"We would be remiss to leave it all up to the stars," Asterstripe murmured. "I don't know what we'll expect there, but I think it'll be another bloody fight."
Rosestar somehow found his paws again, standing straight and speaking with the same voice he used on the Hollow Ash, or on the Greenstone at the Gathering. It was almost reflexive.
"Rats scurry under cover of night, where they know no hunters are stirring. We are like the dawn, sunup chasing vile night-creatures away, where all the treacheries committed in the dark are exposed and shamed by the light. Rowanthorn and his misled allies will look on our faces and instantly remember the wrongs they've done against their Clan and the warrior code, that much, I can promise you."
His warriors, however few, gave up a ragged cheer. Rosestar stood up straighter, bolstered by the new heart in their eyes.
"See above; it is as Murkpool says. Every star fallen to earth is a StarClan warrior that's come to fight alongside us."
He almost began to believe it himself, until Rooktuft came.
She collapsed in the dust as she staggered into the hollow, long dark fur filled with sticky burrs from running over the HillClan heath. Murkpool rushed to her side as she heaved and panted, blue eyes pressed close.
"Rooktuft," Rosestar said, approaching her with a gentle stroke of his tail. Ran herself half to death. He felt his heart sink even as he asked the question. "How far off are Duskstar's warriors?"
She panted, unanswering, letting her head lie in the dirt. "They would not come," she finally breathed between gulping breaths. "Duskstar says, he says—"
He silenced her with another brush of his tail, managing the gentle gesture even while he kneaded up the clumps of grass under his paws. "Rest yourself, Rooktuft. You've done me so much great service already."
Useless! That was what he wanted to shout.
His voice came out as barely a whisper. Every cat that wishes to be safe is running from my side. A raiding party of HillClan warriors made all the difference against the numbers they faced, counting their names in his head.
Rosestar stood paralyzed, staring upon the bloody sky above.
Asterstripe sidled up close to his leader. "You are our leader. We would fight all the Clans in the forest for you." It sounded suspiciously close to words of comfort.
"I know you're right," Rosestar said, regaining his composure. "I am leader of LeafClan, and this name that StarClan gave me is worth nine lives, nine warriors to fight alongside you. Never balk. We are warriors, and we do not flinch in the face of the enemy."
But they were still powerless to move, for now. He had to sit on this cursed hilltop and wait.
The leader paced off along, toward the cliff's edge, eyes still gazing at the stars above. He did not pray to his ancestors often, or ever. But he'd seen them, their pelts glittering with starlight, as vibrant as they were in youth when he dreamt besides the great Moonshard. Did they see him now, into his heart?
Were they powerless, or apathetic, or all much more powerful and all-seeing than he would like?
He stared out into the heavens until he saw the small dot approaching in the distance, running bush to bush, tree to tree. As the shape drew closer, he saw it for a cat, a gray tabby with a white belly; his clanmate. Shrikepaw, the medicine cat apprentice, returned from camp where his mentor had left him.
It was a torturous wait, watching him wind up, and up, and up, around and around the narrow footholds of Clawtower, until Shrikepaw finally summited the flatheaded mountain. Rosestar watched the pale shape of the sun filter through the weak clouds, rising higher in the sky, lifting shadows from the earth.
The leader waited patiently, tail wrapped around his paws, for the medicine cat apprentice to approach.
"R-Rosestar…" Shrikepaw mewed at last from over his shoulder, his breath heavy. "I fear to speak…"
Rosestar didn't turn. "What do you have to fear, Shrikepaw?" he mewed hollowly. "The worst thing you can say is death and loss, and death will have its day. My ear is open and my heart prepared. Speak, Shrikepaw."
"Except for Ivyflower, Mousespots, and the elders, all cats old enough to catch their own prey have abandoned camp," Shrikepaw said, shuffling his paws, head low. "Rowanthorn leads a mob of warriors towards us even now."
This was nothing Larkfeather had not already told him.
"What about Greeneyes and Briarstalk?" Rosestar demanded, a strain of rage entering his voice. "Do they abandon us as well? Fled like rats away from Rowanthorn, have they?"
He swiped his paws out, slashing the head off a dandelion, tail lashing in agitation now. How could he be so naive?
"Mouse-hearts! Rogues! All those sweet, hollow words, they meant nothing; empty flattery. They show their stripes now, as treacherous as the rest of my warriors. Attached themselves to my pelt like ticks, and then disappeared from my side in my time of need. There's no more loyalty and faith in those two than a pair of snakes; let them fly from LeafClan territory and never return if they run away now!"
Shrikepaw let his gaze drop to the earth, tail drooping in the dust behind them. "Uncurse them, Rosestar," he finally said, raising his voice to a timorous pitch to be heard over the leader's shouts. "They have begun their journey to Silverpelt."
"What do you mean?" Larkfeather demanded from among the LeafClan warriors, her eyes wide and voice strained. "Briarstalk and Greeneyes are dead?"
"Both of them were murdered by Rowanthorn at sunup," Shrikepaw said.
Rosestar sat himself back down in the grass, suddenly dizzy. His warriors exchanged dismayed cries and horrified looks. Briarstalk had been Shrikepaw's littermate and Thrushpaw's mentor, but she...
"Where is Elderheart and his warriors?" Asterstripe urged, almost bowling the medicine cat apprentice over in his haste.
"No matter where," Rosestar echoed hollowly. One day had clouded all his happy days on earth. Just one day. He had but nine lives to give, and how should he lose them? Fever? Greencough? Hunger? Leaf-bare cold? A fox, a Twoleg's dog? In battle?
Or by murder? Just like his friends, more than friends, murdered?
He had nine to give, with the expectation he would give them freely for LeafClan. But must he give them all now? Rowanthorn and the rest, he could feel the heat of their boiling hatred from the top of Clawtower.
It was hardly economical for LeafClan to spend so many lives in one day. In one season.
A day before he had felt untouchable, walking on clouds, the moon and stars and sun at his command, the forest as his hunting ground. Leader of LeafClan.
His warriors stared at him now, eyes fixed on him, silent. Paleface with his mismatched blue and yellow-green eyes, Asterstripe, Splitears, Rooktuft, Jaywind, the medicine cats and the apprentices. Larkfeather, usually flowing with comforting words, seemed to avoid his eyes now.
Something stung his eyes. "You see, then. I'm flesh and blood like you. Just as frail as any cat. I taste grief, feel need, need friends. So how can you call me a leader?"
He knew heat and cold, hunger's sharp pangs. He tasted grief, needed friends.
"Mouse-hearts die many deaths before their last, but brave warriors live eternally," Murkpool mewed gravely. "The battle is not lost until it's fought."
"We still have loyal clanmates. My father, your deputy," Asterstripe said in low but frantic tones. "He's led LeafClan to victory against worse odds, have we forgotten? Again, where is Elderheart and his warriors?"
Shrikepaw looked as if he might wilt into dust.
"Elderheart, Beethorn, Shrewnose, and Goosebelly have all joined with Rowanthorn. All the warriors and apprentices not with us here, they all follow his orders like he—"
"You've said enough," Rosestar said, fire erupting with his words. The leader whirled on Asterstripe now, leering, voice dripping with mockery. "Do you have any other sweet words of comfort, Asterstripe? Any other advice? What do you say now?"
Asterstripe's mouth opened and closed, speechless.
The leader sniffed and rose, walking among his warriors through the sacred grove and the Greenstones atop Clawtower one final time.
"I will not ask you to spill your blood for a vain cause," Rosestar said. "What you do next is beyond my ability to care. For me, I return to LeafClan territory."
Asterstripe started after him. "Do not give up hope, Rosestar—"
Rosestar spun and pounced on him, wrestling the young warrior to the ground in one fluid movement and leaving him ruffled in the dust, eyes dazed and confused.
"Don't delude me and lie to my face with sweet imaginings anymore, you kittypet."
He left him there on the ground, stalking alone toward the long, winding trail down Clawtower's stony ribs. Away, to see Rowanthorn.