SHRIKEWING
The full moon seemed to hover just out of reach of the trees, taking on an ochre glow against the yellowing crowns of Clawtower. It was a journey he felt like he'd made dozens and dozens of times, but never coming from the north like he was now. The sacred mount seemed misshapen from this angle, or maybe he was just seeing it with fresh eyes.
He had almost hesitated, electing to stay back in MireClan camp with the others. But the stars tugged him on, and he followed at Burdockstar's heels, climbing single file up the narrow track that corkscrewed around the stony ribs of Clawtower.
HillClan scents already filled the clearing, early as always, but scanter than in moons past. A few lean, hard-faced warriors clustered around their leader on the Greenstone, with no signs of elders or queens or young apprentices, almost as if they were ready for a fight.
He knew better than to think that HillClan, of all Clans, would break StarClan's sacred peace. But clearly, they didn't trust the other Clans as far.
Shrikewing tried to pick Paleface out among their number, his odd-eyed clanmate, but there was no sign of his snow white pelt. How many moons had it been, since they'd last seen each other? Not since before the battle.
When MeadowClan entered the clearing, their sheer numbers seemed to flood the empty space. Where the HillClan cats looked ragged and worn, the MeadowClan cats were sleek-furred and full-bellied, and soon Clawtower was buzzing with the drone of gossip, drama, swapped greetings and smalltalk.
He watched, muted from the outer ring of the clearing, counting the warriors he recognized. Some from Gatherings past, others purely by reputation. Lilystar didn't climb any of the Greenstones at first, standing at the foot of the boulder in conversation with his deputy and medicine cat, Morningsky and Raggedweed.
Even in the depths of leaf-bare, their Clan seemed to thrive, sustained by the river and prey from Twoleg fields. And fed by Twolegs themselves, some cats liked to say, but who knew if that rumor had any truth to it, or if it was just some slander that old LeafClan warriors had spread around until it was treated like fact.
LeafClan was late. But when they finally began to pool into the clearing, the buzz seemed to die down into low murmurs, every Clan separating from them like oil and water. Shrikewing felt his heart clench seeing the familiar faces of his clanmates, jumping from one cat to another.
There was Sunfire, face clawed into a wreck under Burdockstar's paws. As much as he'd heard about it, it was his first time seeing the poorly healed scars with his own eyes.
Rowanstar had to have been madder than a fox in a fit to name him his deputy—Shrikewing could only remember the mischievous, thought-deficient little kit that got sick off yarrow and poppy seeds in Murkpool's den. He'd scarcely believed his own ears, the first time a MireClan cat reported it back to him.
Surely, they'd mistaken him for the wrong cat. Hawkwing, or Owlswoop, or Boulderstep, or even young Sorreltail, but certainly not Sunfire.
Yet Shrikewing couldn't deny his own eyes now, watching the golden tom lead the LeafClan cats into the clearing. He searched for Rowanstar among them, but there was no sign of him, and it was Sunfire who climbed the Greenstone parallel to the other leaders in his place.
Lilystar yowled to the moon, bringing the Gathering to order and letting an uneasy silence settle over the four assembled Clans.
"I suppose we should first ask the question at the top of every cat's mind," the MeadowClan leader began, speaking from the Greenstone directly opposite of Sunfire. "Why does Rowanstar not stand here for LeafClan? Is he not well?"
Sunfire looked tense there on the rock, eyes flicking between the three leaders and the mass of cats below them. "Rowanstar is recovering from an illness, but quickly regaining his strength." It was traditional for the deputy and medicine cat to sit just below the leader's perch, but Shrikewing saw no sign of Murkpool, his old mentor. "And LeafClan thrives, in spite of the challenges to our territory. Quailtail, Swiftstorm, and Bluenose eight kits have left the nursery to begin training as apprentices, and our clanmate Ryebreeze is expecting her first litter—"
"Many congratulations to your queens," Duskstar said abruptly, his baritone voice drowning out and silencing the younger warrior mid-sentence. "While your kits enjoy the sanctuary of the nursery, ours were forced out into the freezing night, when your warriors ransacked their nests like foxes."
The gathered cats exploded into shouts, outraged howls, and jeers. Sunfire lashed his tail, hackles standing on end. "Rest assured, HillClan remains strong, and we give all glory to StarClan for it," Duskstar went on. "And we remember and have faith that StarClan will deliver vengeance."
"Come deliver it yourself then!" he heard a familiar voice bellow out from the crowd, Boulderstep he presumed, but he couldn't see the warrior's face between the countless ranks of cats.
"Yes, vengeance," Burdockstar snarled. "In MireClan, we still haven't forgotten how HillClan and LeafClan both attacked us in our nests, in the moon before last leaf-fall. First, Rosestar was punished, and then HillClan tasted the bitterness of their own poison."
She looked the LeafClan deputy up and down, tail lashing, ignoring the hisses and heckling from LeafClan and HillClan warriors alike. "Rowanstar may be too weak, or too mouse-heart to show his face beneath the full moon. But LeafClan will not escape unpunished for their many wrongs. Your own medicine cat, a voice of StarClan, has turned against you."
Burdockstar held her tail up in an upright signal, and Shrikewing tensed. That was his cue, and he pressed through the throngs, cats parting as he approached the four Greenstones around the center of the clearing.
He heard LeafClan cats gasp, snatching familiar glimpses of faces where his clanmates were tightly clustered.
"Allow Shrikewing to tell the story that the other Clans have only heard through rumor and whispers."
Shrikewing kept his head high, gaze straight as he settled between the MireClan medicine cat and Toadfoot, the MireClan deputy.
"LeafClan bleeds, and gasps for life under Rowanstar," Shrikewing started, projecting his voice across the clearing, and the countless voices stilled to silence at a medicine cat's words. "An exile, who returned before the end of his banishment under the cover of night. And when warriors loyal to Rosestar resisted him, he had them slaughtered."
All his other memories might fade, but he'd always remember his sister's face.
"Briarstalk," he said, almost choking when he said her name, but still he kept on. "Greeneyes, Splitears, and Rooktuft, with my mentor forced into the elder's den before his time. And when Rowanstar journeyed to Standing Stones to earn his leader's name, with our true leader still alive, he was rejected by StarClan."
Murmurs rippled through the Gathering. Some in LeafClan and HillClan were aware, but how many? The entire forest would know now, and they had to know.
"Rowanstar does not have a leader's nine lives! His leadership is cursed, and must end!" Shrikewing called now, his voice rising above the swell of noise from the surrounding crowd. "And I call upon every warrior loyal to StarClan, to stand with us and MireClan as we right these wrongs!"
The Gathering dissolved on the verge of a riot, LeafClan, MireClan, and HillClan warriors all bristling in each other's faces, trading insults and threats. Raggedweed even climbed the Greenstone beside Lilystar to shout for calm under StarClan's peace, but he might as well have yelled for the moon to stop shedding light.
When HillClan was the first to leave, separating from the crowd to start the journey back to their camp, MeadowClan was quick to follow. But even as MireClan separated themselves from the rows of LeafClan warriors, Shrikewing caught himself stealing glances behind them, looking over every familiar pelt.
His Clan. As long as he might shelter in MireClan camp, he would never be one of them, and his own heart wouldn't accept it. But as long as Rowanstar lived, he would remain an exile, and his kin's spirit would remain unavenged.
They returned over the marsh to the pale bearded trees in the heart of MireClan territory, fog rising from the swamp. The air teemed with the croaks of frog-song and low hoots of owls.
Soon. Like two circling warriors with claws unsheathed, LeafClan and MireClan were ready to pounce on each other. It was pivotal they met the moment.
When they returned through the thorn tunnel into the muddy hollow, waiting cats gathered around, expectant of gossip. Warriors, apprentices, queens, elders, and all, some stirring from their nests, others glancing up from the fresh-kill pile.
He'd grown leaner since living in MireClan's wetlands, not that they weren't capable of hunting for every cat in the Clan. If I have to eat frogs for one more moon…
There was Jaywind appearing from the MireClan nursery, her dappled light brown kit standing at her side. It was a MireClan queen who pulled the kit back into the nursery as Jaywind rushed toward her LeafClan clanmates.
"What did they say?!" an apprentice urged.
"Is it happening?" asked an elder.
"Rowanstar was not there," Burdockstar said as she moved among the Clan, glancing around the camp. "But we made sure LeafClan received our message. Toadfoot, I trust you to pick warriors for the war party. We will do battle before the new moon."
The MireClan cats raised yowls into the night sky, as their deputy stood tall and gave a solemn nod. He was a brown dappled tom with a large, square head, a white belly and sallow yellowish eyes that never showed mirth, joy, rage, or malice. Eyes like the toads lying belly-up on the fresh-kill pile.
Toadfoot gave silent nods and signals to a few warriors without a moment's hesitation, like Loachwhisker and Snakethroat, earning their cheers and whoops of excitement. Others practically stumbled over themselves to volunteer, every one of them ravenous for LeafClan blood.
The deputy's eyes flicked to Jaywind and Shrikewing next, giving them the same nod. "And you, LeafClan. This is your fight most of all. And medicine cat, I'd like to speak more with you about our strategy."
He was no fighter. But he would lend all his skills, if that's what it would take. Shrikewing accepted with a dip of his head. With MireClan splitting off as Toadfoot finished listing names, Shrikewing turned and started back out of the thorn tunnel, into the half-familiar gloom of the swamp outside camp.
A moment to breathe. A moment to think. But a moment alone, that would be too much to ask for.
Toadfoot followed, with Jaywind and Loachwhisker, but he saw no sign of Nightbird. The senior warrior was out hunting or sulking in the swamps more often than not; who knew where he might be now. Ever since news crept back of his son's death, he had been a shadow of his former self.
"You spoke well at the Gathering, medicine cat," Loachwhisker mewed from behind him, following at his heels. "I think every honorable heart in the four Clans is with you."
Long shadows stretched over the damp, spongy terrain, silver patterns shifting and dancing over the muddy earth. Back in newleaf, it bloomed with fresh growth, and in greenleaf it almost resembled LeafClan's forest in some aspects. Just enough to remind him of everything he was missing. But MireClan territory seemed to grow wetter and wetter by the day; in leaf-bare, he heard it said their hunting grounds became half-flooded.
"So you've heard our cause and know our strength," he answered with a glance over his shoulder, still wandering aimlessly into the wetlands. "But I want to hear you speak your opinions, and speak it plainly. First you, Jaywind, what do you say to it?"
"Of course I agree with our cause," Jaywind said. "But I'd feel better satisfied if I knew when and how we'll strike, with less strength than we had the last time."
"We are more than enough to take on any enemy, anywhere," Toadfoot said with a puff of his chest. "And your clanmate Nightbird will be with us as well, whose heart burns with his loss."
"I mean no offense, but Nightbird is a broken cat," Loachwhisker murmured. "The question stands, can we do this without HillClan?"
"With them, there's no doubt," Toadfoot said.
"That's exactly my point," Loachwhisker said. "But without them, we leave victory up to chance. My judgment is that we should not step too far until we reach out to them. In a game as bloody as this, there can't be any guessing, hoping, or speculating when it comes to our next move."
"This is very true, Loachwhisker," Shrikewing had to admit. "That was Nettlefang's mistake in the last battle."
He could only say it out of Nightbird's hearing. But against all advice, it seemed, he and Burdockstar had rushed headlong into the battle, and LeafClan slaked their thirst for blood.
"It was," Loachwhisker said, her voice low. "We lined ourselves with hope, and ate the air on the promise of victory and LeafClan's weakness. And like ants, we led ourselves headlong into destruction."
"But it never did hurt to plan, or lay down forms of hope," Toadfoot countered.
"Yes it does, if we live in hope," Shrikewing cut in. They were already hurtling toward battle, even now, and he intended to win by any means. "Hope is seeing the first buds of newleaf and thinking they will flower, when almost all will be killed by frost. Our plans must have a strong foundation, or else you build your camp on sinking ground."
Toadfoot flicked his ears, unmoved. "Even if all our hopes are crushed in front of us, and we're all we have, I think we're strong enough as we are to win. We're all that we need."
Loachwhisker looked less than certain, silently testing the paw she'd injured in the battle in the poppies those moons ago. "You saw it for yourself, how their Clan has grown. We will not have the numbers we did before."
"Rowanstar has to keep careful watch on three borders, against HillClan and MeadowClan just as much as us," Toadfoot said. "And his deputy claims he is too sick to attend the Gathering. LeafClan is vulnerable, no matter their bluster."
"If the other Clans sense LeafClan's weakness, they might also strike," Shrikewing granted, head low. Surely, they would suffer until Rowanstar was truly and finally gone.
"If LeafClan pulls border patrols from the hills or the river, Duskstar or Lilystar might take advantage," Toadfoot affirmed with a nod. "Their warriors will be overstretched, or overworked, and feeling the pressure from all their rivals."
There was no need for fear, then. He steeled his heart with a sharp inhale. "Let's continue on, then. And continue to pray that StarClan leads my Clan back to the light." The Clan had to be sick of their own choice. Over-greedy in their love for him, their rush to proclaim him leader, that they sickened and disgorged it like a cat scarfing down their fresh-kill.
A rule built on love was shaking and fleeting as the changing leaves. The vulgar hearts of warriors and their selfish ambitions, defying the traditions that StarClan had set down for them.
Fond, foolish LeafClan cats, who shook the air yowling Rowanstar's name before they even knew if he'd be the leader they'd have him be. It was how those dogs, those foxes gorged themselves on Rosestar's love, and how they vomited it up. And now they would howl for that dead vomit and eat it for the nostalgia of those days.
What trust in these times? Those that wanted Rosestar's blood when he was alive, now enamored on his grave. Those who abandoned LeafClan camp to join the exile on Berry Hill, who helped kill their clanmates at his bidding, who drove their leader from the sacred Ash… some of them would now cry out for Rosestar again.
The temporary thoughts and changeable hearts of so-called warriors. Thistles and thorns on it all. They only thought good about the past and future, and the present could only be hated.
Jaywind whipped her tail. "I'm ready to do this, no matter the odds, no matter the chances." She had a mother to avenge, and a kit of her own to fight for now.
Toadfoot gave a low rumble of approval in the LeafClan cat's direction. "Time is our leader, and presses us on."
Shrikewing cast his eyes up between the rustling, bare branches of swamp oaks and black willows. Up to Silverpelt, and his warrior ancestors, sending up a silent prayer.
Let StarClan guard the right.