SUNSTAR
When he touched his nose to the Moonshard, he felt cold death wash over him, and Hawkwing told him later he'd collapsed in a heap. In his mind, he went sinking down through the mirror pool and down, down into the depths, senseless to everything.
StarClan showed him nothing, and everything.
Down, down into the void, until he was plunging back through veils of clouds like a blazing star. The woods and wetlands, the meadows and hills, towering mountains and the endless waters of sun-drown-place, and countless frightful lands beyond; they unfolded around him as he touched back to earth.
He glided between towering trees in a primeval forest that blocked out all light, watching the Father Oak grow from a sapling. Its leaves flickered from light red buds to full green, yellowing to a withered brown and breaking away in the icy wind, all in the blink of an eye.
"Last light before the darkest night," the ever-changing leaves seemed to whisper. "Blood will spill blood, kin will slay kin, leaf will turn on leaf. LeafClan will not bloom until three are joined in one."
In those leaves, he saw a thousand seasons in the blink of an eye, spirit soaring over the earth.
Twolegs the size of ants, felling giant trees with claws and fire, their nests and farms filling the swaths of paradise they cut away. Twolegplace, clouds of black smog choking the air, sprawling in all directions until it swallowed near everything.
The last of the wolves stalked through that wood, even more fearsome than in his nightmares. He saw the shadows of cats in the mountain heights, howling winds cutting through the pass, until one gazed out from a promontory, and he saw Clawtower in the distance through their eyes.
He moved with them as they made their way down into the uplands, drifting through a multitude of lives, over the foothills and open moor, watched them sheltering from hailstorms in ancient warrens.
He saw the green hollow, still running with an ancient stream, and the Hollow Ash when it was young.
There, at Clawtower, he saw them again. One cat stumbled between a dozen others, spotted in scarlet from face to tail. Then another great battle beneath the glow of the full moon, the grass soaked with blood.
"Snowy Meadow says Changing Leaf was ambitious…" one cat said from atop the Greenstone, addressing a crowd. But he seemed to tumble through every moment with the wind, flying from newleaf to greenleaf, leaf-fall to leaf-bare, kits growing to elders, blood red flowers blooming over their graves.
"Here was a leader! When comes such another?!" the voice roared, seeming to chase after him.
"Never, never!"
In a muddy hollow, in the heart of a black swamp, he watched a queen wash blood from her paws. He saw two young warriors of two different Clans, a tom and she-cat, meet in secret beneath the moon. And he saw a silver-muzzled elder stagger over the open heath, pelt soaked to his bones in the drenching rain, thunder and lightning exploding across the sky as he howled his rage into the wind.
A white cat fighting a great lion-cat in a mountain cavern. Three spectral cats singing nonsense prophecies, gathered on the marsh, their pelts shifting with the fog.
The fog filled his vision, fields of blood-spotted snow stretching beneath his paws, until two mismatched eyes stared out at him, glowing with malice. A bleak frosted sky split open above him.
Then another face appeared in the glow of a halo, a silver and white tabby with blue eyes. And this face he did know. Rainripple of MeadowClan, who he tracked with silent eyes through near-every Gathering, the one who had challenged him up on the Greenstone this past full moon.
"From the wrong-eyed one, the bloodied dawn shall spring! When three are joined in one…"
Above, the sky streaked with falling stars, LeafClan cats gathered on a ridge. Rosestar's blood seeped into the earth, seeming to scream out at him as the leader died and revived over, and over, and over. His father and Leopardfoot, grappling together beneath the shadow of the Father Oak. And still, the leaves of the Oak prophesied to him.
"The dawn that was promised! The falling of leaves! As it was, so shall it be!"
One leaf remained constant among the ripples of color, as the trees blurred from red to green to gold to black. It was split clear down the middle vein, one half red and one half green.
"To restore what was broken, to right what was wronged, to cleanse what has been tainted, look to the half-Clan…!"
The horrors he saw, the claws that raked out from him in the dark, the roots and vines that tangled about his legs and choked out the open air. The faces of the many dead, the mangled and worm-eaten dead, Thrushear and Nettlefang and Goosebelly and Sneezy and a hundred others screaming out at him from the tangles of thorns. Blood and bone roses budded from his weeping wounds, as he fought to claw and hack his way free.
And then he was out on an exposed hill, the metal taste of a late greenleaf storm churning the fields to mud. Back among his war party, the LeafClan scents familiar to his senses, but when he glanced around, they were all strangers to him.
"You mouse-heart! You fox-heart!" a long-haired golden tom shouted as the rain pounded down, shoving weakly at an older storm-gray tabby who might as well have been carved from stone. The golden tom was young, even younger than himself. "I won't leave him to die!"
"He's our brother!" a young gray-brown tom echoed. Barely even warriors, he realized with a hard swallow, if not apprentices. "He's your son!"
The storm-gray tabby's eyes were chips of yellow flint, pitiless as he met their glares. "Let him earn his name," he growled, and with a silent tail signal, led his war party through the rain. But the two brothers stayed behind, and with one last brave glance in each other's eyes, went charging down the muddy hill.
In a moment, he was hurtling into the maelstrom with them.
There were seven dead cats at the black shadow's feet, cats stumbling and slipping through the mud. It was a wonder one cat could tell their clanmate apart from an enemy. Eyes clawed out, throats gashed, unmoving pelts matted with congealed blood flattening the wildflowers. Tufts of fur tumbled across the grass like dandelion fluff.
The gully was swarming with fighting, dying, and dead cats.
This was no battle. It was a massacre.
"Swanstar, you must retreat!" a cat was saying, as an aged white-haired leader rose again from the mud. Both his eyes were scored out, weeping red tears as he staggered to his paws, two breathless and bloodied warriors helping to prop him up.
"Where is my son? Where is Lilytail?" was all Swanstar asked, his voice hoarse.
"We don't know," the warrior replied. "We think he may still be fighting."
"Far be it that the leader of MeadowClan should run away," the blind leader said, raising his trembling head. "Take me to where the battle is loudest. StarClan will be with us. Nothing to fear. Just take good care of my son."
And in a moment, in a breath, flying upward and upward into the starlight, Sunstar had awoken with a scream of terror. It couldn't have been the communion with his warrior ancestors that had been promised to him.
Sunstar knew in his heart that he had no nine lives, the same as his father before him. Nothing but the promise of dread times to come.
Now creeping murmur and poring dark filled the wide vessel of the universe. They scouted this little island in the stream, not quite so big as LeafClan camp, but it served for their small, mismatched band. Reedbeds and ancient hawthorns, now flowering with red berries that even drew in some small birds.
It was as secure a place as any, even knowing MeadowClan could be anywhere beyond the thick walls of fog that enshrouded them. The rain drove on and on, as cats wove reed nests under the shelter of the hawthorns, did their patrols, said their prayers, practiced their last combat drills.
Some final rest, at last some personal time, before the bloodied dawn.
The tardy, cripple-gaited night seemed to limp on so tediously. And poor LeafClan, sitting like ready sacrifices, at least so every cats' face seemed to say. These ragged, starving few, their ribs showing through their pelts.
Sunstar's throat was raw from what he knew must be a coming cough, and cursed it to wait until after the fighting was done. He didn't know what he would do if whitecough started to spread through the warriors now.
He moved around the island, letting himself be seen and all, letting them see his cheer. If there was any comfort, any heart they could take in seeing their leader walk among them, he would do his part.
His littermates stood together beneath one of the hawthorn trees, the rain screening them from view, their heads low as they spoke together.
"MeadowClan knows exactly where we are," he heard Honeypad whisper, Sorreltail nodding gravely along. "It was inevitable, but the chase is up. Now there's no choice but to fight them head-on."
Sunstar stepped through the heavy droplets of rain, flicking it from his ears. His brother and sister both stood to attention as he approached.
"Honeypad, it's true we're in great danger. Then the greater must our courage be," Sunstar mewed with a nod of greeting. "Good evening, or morrow, Sorreltail. I'll say, there's some spirit of goodness in all evil things, if cats can pluck it out. Our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers, which is both healthy and an excellent ethic for any warrior."
"I remember when nothing could stop you from napping past sunhigh," Sorreltail purred with a twitch of his whiskers. "MeadowClan mentors us well, then."
Another set of whiskers appeared through the fog and rain, a senior brown and gray tabby, his muzzle now turning to gray. "Good evening, Hawkwing," Sunstar greeted. "A good soft nest would do you better than some wet MeadowClan grass."
"Not so," Hawkwing said. "I like this rough nest better, since now I can say I sleep like a leader."
And he used to think he had no sense of humor. "Honeypad, Sorreltail, would you get the senior warriors together where it's driest? I'd like to speak with them some time tonight."
"As you ask," Honeypad answered.
"I'll be with you later. First, I'd like to do my own patrolling."
"Shall I come with you?" Hawkwing asked, as Sunstar turned to depart with a wave of his tail.
"Not this time, Hawkwing," Sunstar answered, glancing over his shoulder. "Go with my siblings. Me and my heart must debate awhile, and then there's no company I'd rather have than yours."
Hawkwing dipped his head. "StarClan light your path, noble Sunstar!" he called after him.
Merciful stars, old heart, you speak cheerfully. Sunstar stalked through the fog, to where Elmpaw had left one last leaf bundle. A little last brush of lavender, which he smeared and dabbed on his pelt until his scent nearly disappeared.
He stalked around the edge of the island, to where Old Scratch sat alone by the water's edge. She squinted, peering into the thick fog, until the snap of a twig behind her made her whirl around.
"Who goes there?" Scratch hissed, and Sunstar tensed where he was hiding. But it was not him who stepped on the twig.
"A friend," a squeak answered. It was little Acornpaw, the small golden-brown apprentice flicking his tail in greeting as he joined her by the water's edge.
"Ah, there's the runt warrior," the rogue rasped warmly.
"I'm an apprentice, not a warrior."
"Bah," Old Scratch hissed with an agitated twitch of her tail. "I name you leader of all the Clans and Twolegplace. You alone are worthy."
"Me alone? Not even Sunstar?" Acornpaw asked.
"Sunstar's a bawcock, and a heart of gold," Scratch said, looking at the apprentice with tears brimming in her eyes now. "A rogue of life, a fox of fame, of mentor good, and of claw most valiant. I kiss his dirty paw, and from heartstring to heartstring I love the lovely bully."
They sat together in silence for some time, except for the drip of rain against the creek.
"Do you know the skinny HillClan rabbit-cat? Leekroot?" Old Scratch hissed, breaking the silence.
"Yes," Acornpaw replied skeptically.
"Tell him I'll knock his head in the first chance I get."
"If I do that, he might knock in yours," Acornpaw said.
"What, are you his friend? You think so?" Old Scratch hissed.
"I know so."
"Dirt on your friendship, then!" Scratch complained, as Acornpaw padded away. Sunstar took his leave too, disappearing back into the fog, searching the shadows of the hawthorns.
The rain washed away all scents, but Sunstar could almost swear he could hear faint MeadowClan voices carried on the wind, a hint of what he almost thought was bitter laughter. Could they be so close? In these conditions, they could be one leap across the stream, for all he knew.
He stalked behind the cover of the hawthorn thicket, freezing and pivoting his ears as another voice sounded through the fog.
"HillClan?" a voice broached the murk. He instantly recognized it as Tansyslip. "Is that you?"
He saw the shadows come together now, just a faint outline of heads and tails, almost stumbling together head on.
"In the name of StarClan, speak lower," the leader heard Leekroot hiss in response. "Duskstar chose me for dozens of raids, and I warrant you, there was no tiddle-toddle nor pibble-babble in Duskstar's war parties."
"Why, the enemy is loud," Tansyslip complained, raising her hackles. "You hear them all night!"
"If the enemy is a mouse-brain, and a fool, and a prating pheasant, is it right, think you, that you should also be a mouse-brain, and a fool, and a prating pheasant?" Leekroot challenged. "Honestly now."
He might not have been able to see her roll her eyes, but it was strong enough that he felt it in her words. "I will speak lower," Tansyslip whispered.
"I pray and beg that you do."
Sunstar slipped off before he could be noticed, smirking to himself. The outsider was a strange fit in their war party, but he couldn't deny there was much care and valor in this HillClan cat. They were lucky to have him on their side.
The leader of LeafClan wandered sleepless through the night. Somewhere on the prairie, the cock was crowing. A few small shapes huddled, shivering beneath one of the bushy trees.
"Shadepaw, isn't that one of those chicken things?" Elmpaw asked. "Sunup is coming."
"I think it is," Shadepaw murmured, blue eyes blinking from the gloom. "But we have no reason to welcome the morning."
"We see the beginning of the day, but we'll never see the end of it," Sedgepaw said darkly from beside her. "Who goes there?"
Sunstar pressed himself low to the ground as Acornpaw crept through the haze, returning from the stream's edge.
"Just you, Acornpaw," Sedgepaw sighed. "Been lurking around again? What do you think the warriors make of our situation?"
"Like fish on the sand, hoping to be washed off at the next tide," Acornpaw said, sitting down across from them under the cover of the hawthorn. He flicked water droplets from his ears.
"Has anyone said as much to Sunstar?" Shadepaw asked.
"I doubt it," Acornpaw answered. "And they probably shouldn't. A leader's a regular cat like anybody else. He's probably as terrified as everyone else, but he just can't show it."
Shadepaw sniffed. "He may show what outward courage he will, but I believe, on as cold a night as this, he could wish himself in the river up to his neck. And I wish he were, and me by him, so long as we were leaving here."
"Honestly," Acornpaw started quietly. "He's my mentor now, and I don't think he'd wish himself anywhere but where he is."
"Then I wish he were here alone," Shadepaw groaned. "Many poor lives could be saved."
"Me though," Acornpaw said, "I couldn't think of a better warrior's death than in my leader's company, his cause being just and honorable."
"That's more than we know," Sedgepaw said pointedly, green eyes narrowing at her runtish littermate.
"Yes, and more than we should seek after," Shadepaw echoed. "We know enough that he's our leader, and the leader's word is the warrior code. If his cause is wrong, our obedience to him wipes the crime out of us."
"But if the cause is not good," Sedgepaw mewed darkly, "Sunstar himself has a heavy reckoning to make. When all those clawed eyes and gashed throats and broken limbs join together in StarClan's endless hunting grounds, and cry all, 'We died at such a place.'
"Some swearing, some crying for a medicine cat, some for their mates left poor behind them, some for their kits rawly left. I'm afraid there are few who die well, who die in a battle. And if these warriors do not die well, it will be a black matter for the leader that led them to it. The Clan has no choice but to follow what he says, right or wrong."
Acornpaw's amber eyes flashed. He'd never known his apprentice to be overtly bold, with all the presence of a mouse or a mockingbird. But he was defiant now.
"If a warrior dies on a border patrol, or out hunting for the Clan, is it the leader's fault they were killed? No. They never meant for their clanmates to die when they asked them to do their duty. And there's no leader, their cause never so spotless, that can fight a war without their warriors getting hurt. Every warrior's duty is the leader's word, but every cat's soul is their own."
Sedgepaw just sat back, suddenly sullen, eyes turning away.
"I don't desire he should answer my ancestors for me," Shadepaw mewed, "but I'm determined to fight for him, if I have to."
"You heard Sunstar," Acornpaw added with a note of optimism now. "He said he wouldn't be ransomed."
"Yes, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully," Sedgepaw snapped. "But when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we none the wiser."
"If I live to see it, I'll never trust his word after," Acornpaw growled.
"You pay him then!" Sedgepaw snarled, standing to her feet. "What would a leader care what one runt apprentice thought of them? You'll 'never trust his word after.' Come on, that's mouse-brained."
"Don't shout at me," Acornpaw said, standing as well, voice lightly quavering. "I would be angry with you if the time were convenient."
"Then let's fight it out later, if you live," Sedgepaw hissed.
"Gladly," Acornpaw said.
"Under the Father Oak."
"It's done!"
"Be friends, you LeafClan fools, be friends!" Shadepaw cut in, her eyes flicking between her two littermates, Elmpaw wide-eyed beside her. "We have more than enough fights to worry about already."
Sunstar crept away unnoticed through the mostly-sleeping war camp, just any other shape in the dark.
Upon the Clan's leader, he thought bitterly, walking back to the water's edge alone. Let our lives, our spirits, our burdens, our mates, and our sins lay on the leader's head. He had to bear it all. To be a leader was to be subject to the breath of every cat, every fool.
What infinite heart's ease must leaders neglect that ordinary warriors enjoyed? And what did leaders have that ordinary cats did not have too, except for nine lives, and ceremony? And what was this ceremony? What was it worth? Was it anything except circumstances, rank, and facade, creating awe and fear in other cats, but less happy to be feared than they were in fearing?
What did it drink, except poisoned flattery instead of sweet homage? Could a leader command greencough to lift, or leaf-bare to shift to newleaf, or order hungry bellies not to growl?
It was not the name of star, the warriors sworn to his command, his seat on the Greenstone or the Hollow Ash, that moved the world or bid the sun to rise.
No, not all this thrice-gorgeous ceremony could let him sleep half so soundly as the wretchedest rogue. Who, with a body filled and vacant mind, gets them to rest, crammed with rotten crowfood. They never saw the horrid night, the child of nightmare.
Pawsteps approached behind him as he gazed off into the mist. "Sunstar," Hawkwing mewed from behind him. "The warriors are jealous of your absence. They're setting off to look for you."
Sunstar gave a long, weary sigh. "Thank you, Hawkwing," he said. "Collect them all together, I'll be with you soon."
"As you say."
Hawkwing gave an obedient dip of his head and disappeared into the fog, as Sunstar collapsed to the earth, craning his head up in prayer to the dark, rainy night sky. Somewhere, through that thick cover of clouds, were his ancestors in Silverpelt.
"Oh StarClan," Sunstar whispered under his breath in prayer, golden eyes angled to the sky, willing the clouds to break so his words might be heard. "Steel my warriors' hearts. Possess them not with fear. Take their sense of reckoning, before the opposing numbers pluck their hearts from them…"
His voice strained, his head grew dizzy, his heart fluttering frantically in his chest, fighting quick and shallow breaths. His long suppressed panic flashed up in him again, making his shoulders tremble, tears threatening to brim in his eyes.
"Not today, oh StarClan, not today…" he murmured, voice shaking. "Do not think of the fault my father made when he became LeafClan's leader. Give me just this day, and I will do anything, anything…"
Somewhere in the fog, he heard his sister's voice call out. "Sunstar?" Honeypad's voice seemed to ring out from the formless dark.
Sunstar took a moment to collect himself, breathing in deep through his mouth and exhaling slowly out his nose. Then he answered, his voice cheery and unbroken. "Yes, I know your errand," the LeafClan leader sighed. "I'll go with you."
The dawn, his clanmates, and the rest of everything waited for him.