Chapter 11

Petalpaw woke from one nightmare to the sounds of another. It was dark in ShadowClan's medicine den, too dark for her to see more than vague shapes of their dwindling herb stores and her mentor's empty, frazzled nest. Yowls rang out from the heart of camp. She bolted from the cluster of dying leaves and out into the soft blue light preceding dawn.

Bodies. More of them this time than there had ever been. Her training kicked in; she ran to them, checking them over one by one in case there was something she could do. Her ears rang with the grief of her remaining Clanmates. Six, seven, eight…

The ninth was like a serpentine bramble raking through her heart: Goldenleaf.

Her mentor was dead.

It was no sickness taking hold of them. Not a trace of blood marked any of the victims, never did. No, these deaths were StarClan's doing. It had started with the half-Clan cats, then moved on to their parents. Then, anyone who openly opposed Sandystar. After that, the killings seemed to happen at random. No rhyme or reason to be found in the will of the heavens. Only vengeful eyes.

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather for a meeting."

Sandystar's voice, quiet as it was, cut through the maddening cries of warriors mourning their loss. To argue was to invite trouble; no one lasted long once they'd spoken against the one blessed with nine lives. It was true that many a cat before Petalpaw had shown little respect for leaders, but this was more than overcorrection; it was malice. The falling stars were taking their dying breath. Taking ShadowClan with them.

And Sandystar was far from pleased. She'd take a few angry outbursts over this any day. Her posture was defeated. Her head hung low, ears back. Her tail dragged in the dirt as she made her way up the little hill in the northern part of their camp. This was not a leader, not in the way that she carried herself. This was a shell of a feline who was tired from her moons of carrying a dying Clan on her shoulders.

This is the end, isn't it?

"Clanmates… In light of our medicine cat's death, and without a place where the moon shines just so, where we may commune with StarClan, it falls upon me to promote Goldenleaf's apprentice and bestow her, her proper name. Petalpaw, come forward."

Of course they were making her the new chief medicine cat. Who else would it be? She was the only other cat in the Clan who knew the herbs and their uses. She was too young. She was too inexperienced. She knew in the pit of her soul that it all be for nothing.

But she was still a cat of ShadowClan, ready and willing to serve it until the end. Heart pounding as it never had, she dutifully made her way to the front and stood before Sandystar. Cats were mumbling and whispering to each other. Cats were mewling into the cold pelts of their kin. Cats were watching, waiting, but without a drop of hope for the future in their eyes.

"Petalpaw, will you uphold the Medicine Cat Code and serve your Clan even at the cost of your life?"

"I will." There was no hesitation, even though none would have blamed her for it.

"Then by the powers vested in me… I give you your medicine cat name."

"By the powers vested in me, by StarClan." It was not lost to them that Sandystar had chosen to omit that part. Thoughts of them had not been kind. Now, Petalpaw knew the feeling was mutual.

"Your name will be…"

#

Carmen was missing. Mosswhisker didn't know what had set off the panic spell, but it had driven the poor Show Cat to run off and hide somewhere. Shadefur had been insisting that panic spells were just like that sometimes, and that Carmen would return after she'd settled her nerves a bit. Had a little time to collect her thoughts.

All Mosswhisker could think was: you lied to me.

#

It started with an increase in volume. The arguments about Vinepaw and Carmen grew louder and louder until they were almost as deafening as the nocturnal human melodies. Then the topics shifted. The Clan argued about getting a move on to their new home. The Clan argued about apprentice discipline. They argued about the Warrior Code and exactly what it meant.

Darkwood was feeling more helpless than ever before. His voice drowned until it fell silent. This dream, this idea he'd believed in with all his heart, was falling apart like something dead and rotting.

His life had been long and winding, full of struggle and sadness. The fur on his muzzle was getting paler all the time. The Clan was supposed to be his final refuge. Getting it safely to its new home was supposed to be the legacy that he left behind. Ever since they'd heard about Clans, they'd tried to be one, but maybe it wasn't meant to be.

"StarClan. With all I've seen and experienced, I know that you can be real. If you are, hear my prayer: I love my Clan. Don't let its light die out."

He knew what they could be, if they would only hear each other's voices, if they would only listen to what their Clanmates had to say. He knew what they could be if they would open up their minds to each other's perspective. He knew what they could be if they would really band together and stand up for their way of life.

Maybe it was all his fault. Maybe if he was a better leader…

Darkwood's voice drifted up to the heavens time and time again until he grew too ill to leave their temporary camp. He felt weaker in every sense, all the while cats bickered and fought among themselves. Shadefur's remedies couldn't touch whatever affliction had sunk its fangs in him.

The moon went from almost full, to half, to crescent. It faded from the sky entirely.

Tigerstripe came to him in the dead of night. She whispered words in a tongue she shouldn't know. She touched her nose to his.

#

"You know what's coming, don't you?" whispered Twilightstep to Hawktalon.

He didn't look at her; he couldn't. "We'll be fine."

He felt like a traitorous rat-heart who was undermining his Clan. But this is what the Inner Guard had been for from the start, right? To step in should Darkwood be unable to lead them? He knew that the facts were telling him he should be proud for taking part. Logic dictated that this was exactly what the Clan had needed, the fallback they'd be lost without now that the moment had come.

"Do you really believe that?" She pressed, and a paw pulled his muzzle to face her.

Stars, what a vision. Her sleek pelt crisscrossed with battle scars, her lean frame, those striking blue eyes… She even made the human accessory they'd torn her ear with look pretty. This fondness for her wasn't new-he'd always admired her as a fellow warrior-but something about all of the chaos of their journey had brought about new feelings.

She was always so composed. Hawktalon supposed that he should be, too. He just wasn't.

"We're a warrior Clan."

"But do you believe it?"

Something about the way Stainpelt was doling out orders more and more these days wasn't right. The way the Clan felt more divided with each passing day wasn't right. The way some cats were disappearing for hours at a time in the name of "hunting trips" and "looking for Vinepaw and Carmen" wasn't right.

Hawktalon didn't trust his Clanmates like he used to. The very realization sent shivers to his core. He didn't think that most of them really meant any harm, no, but he didn't think they cared all that much if they were causing it. A Clan was supposed to be united. A Clan was supposed to work together and overcome whatever stood in its path. Since coming to this City, it only seemed to crack like glass as it broke.

He'd trust Carmen more than he would trust some of the cats he'd sworn to fight beside. Not long ago, he looked at her with all the contempt a pampered pet "deserved" to endure. Then, he'd started to know her, started to prefer her company. Started to find her ignorance just a bit endearing.

Started to have a harder time answering her questions.

It was during one training session like any other when she'd started up again. She'd complained about Whiteroad snapping at Coalkit when he tripped over her tail, caught up in a game with his siblings.

"Why does she get to treat him like that? Just because he's a kit?"

"It's about respect."

"He said he was sorry. It was just an accident."

"Elders don't have to muzzle themselves just because a kit apologizes."

"So, it is because he's a kit."

"Kits… rank lower than elders."

"Why do higher ranks get to just be mean to the lower ones?"

"Like I said, it's about respect. It's a Clan thing. You wouldn't get it."

"If being a Clan cat means being a scratching post 'cause of your rank-"

He jolted as the words cut through him now; now they made sense.

"-why would anybody who's just fine on their own wanna be a warrior?"

Her question had sounded like utter nonsense in the moment. Obviously, because being a warrior was better! Belonging to a Clan was the right way to live! Pledging oneself to the united, honorable collective, to the Code… It was the existence that every cat should want! There was a line in the sand. A line in concrete, even! You were either upstanding, warrior material, or you were something lesser. Something inferior.

But that was the problem with clean, straight lines. They didn't thrive in nature. They didn't stand up to the elements forever. Over time, even the grandest of human structures were prone to fall apart, their sharp angles made jagged from the onslaught of wind and rain. Over time, the boundaries of things were want to become less tangible, less easy to spot.

Black and white and shades of gray and all that.

She'd burst out one day in a fit of giggles: "I've done it! I've figured it out!"

"What is it, now?"

"You're a Maine Coon!"

"What?"

The Clan wasn't old, but it was old enough for Hawktalon to have grown up in. He had scarce memories of his parents and never cared why they'd left him with a brand-new leader at the head of a brand-new Clan. It had all worked out in the end. It had given him the privilege of helping to make it strong. He'd never considered the idea of being a Purebred, of having something in common with Carmen.

"You're at least part Maine Coon. You look just like my mom described!"

"I…"

He stared into Twilightstep's chilling blue gaze. How could he explain that he'd had a different experience as an apprentice? That there were no elders to harass him for the longest time? That he really didn't understand just what had driven Vinepaw to run away? That he had felt stable, strong, and important for as long as he could remember, but now was falling apart?

How could he explain to her that the Inner Guard existed? That he'd been in it from the start? That it was confusing, but there was a cat at the helm who seemed to know what he was doing? Who seemed to be the Clan's best strategist? Who seemed to be doing everything a warrior was supposed to do… but also seemed to be up to something less-than-moral?

"I don't know if I believe it," he admitted. "I don't know if we'll be okay. What I know… is that I'm willing to lay down my life for the Clan. If there's the tiniest chance in the world our Clan can make it, I'll do anything to give us that chance."

The moon went from almost full, to half, to crescent. It faded from the sky entirely.

#

Spark wasn't exactly privy to all the gossip, but he'd learned enough in his short time in the world to know how to shut up and listen. It was nearly all he could do, anyway. Might as well pick up what he could.

The Clan had been the Colony's greatest adversary for a long time. From the outside looking in, he had judged them a true force to be reckoned with. The mere fact that His Majesty was making everyone trek all the way out here to follow it only proved the matter. Pharaoh wouldn't be this caught up on just anything. That cat was older than time and found most worldly things too petty to bother with. Conquering the Clan wasn't just his latest project; it was a point the ruler was out to prove.

And now was a better time than ever. Before, the Clan had been a united front, working like a well-oiled machine whenever it faced Spark's Colony in combat. He didn't know if all the chaos around here was new, or if their cooperation was more facade than fact all along. Darkwood had been ill lately, though, and a slender black and white tom was making most of the decisions. With the bulky gray one at his side, and the gray one's bloodthirsty son, Spark concluded that Darkwood would have a fight on his paws when he tried to take back his position.

If he even did try.

Too often, Spark's thoughts would wander to the she-cat with the ruddy pelt, and he would wonder if he'd get to see her again.

The moon went from almost full, to half, to crescent. It faded from the sky entirely. It was then, when the moon was gone and the sky's only light was that of stars, when no one in the Clan suspected a thing, when the night was as unremarkable as could be, that everything fell apart.