Skyclan’s Destiny

Prologue

The sun was going down, casting deep shadows over the gorge. A chilly breeze ruffled the surface of the river and whirled the last few shriveled leaves through the air. The only sound was the murmur of water that surged from a black hole in a pile of boulders, coiling into a pool before winding away into the darkness beneath the cliffs.

A dark tabby tom appeared at the top of the gorge, outlined against the sky. He paused for a moment, tasting the air. The dying sun shed bloodred light over his pelt, touching a patch on his shoulder where the fur had been torn away. After a few heartbeats the tabby tom signaled with his tail and began to pick his way down a narrow track that zigzagged across the face of the cliff. Seven other cats followed him: A white she-cat stumbled awkwardly on three paws, the fourth a mass of blood-soaked fur held close to her chest; a long-legged black tom edged downward nervously, one eye closed and sticky with blood; a young ginger tom limped with both ears shredded. Not one of the cats was free of wounds.

As the eight warriors padded painfully down the trail toward the water’s edge, four more cats emerged from a cave a little farther along the gorge. The first was a young brown tabby tom who sprang quickly down the rocks to the foot of the boulders. His paws worked anxiously in the sand as he waited for the warriors to arrive. The other three were elders who stumbled after him on shaky legs.

“Well, Spiderstar?” one of them rasped as the leading cat reached the bottom of the cliff. The elder’s muzzle was gray with age, and every one of his ribs was visible beneath his thin black pelt. “What happened? Did you win?”

The dark tabby tom paused for a moment, then padded forward to touch his nose to the older cat’s ear. “What does it look like, Nightfur?” he murmured in reply. “Brackenheart,” he added to the young brown tabby, “I hope your den is well stocked with herbs. We’re going to need them.”

Before the medicine cat could reply, the long-legged black tom pushed up beside his Clan leader, his lip curling in contempt. “Of course we didn’t win. This battle was lost before it was even begun.”

A ginger tabby she-cat, who had brought up the rear as the battle-scarred cats made their way down the cliff, bounded up and glared at the black tom. “You can’t say that, Swallowflight! We had to fight. SkyClan still has its pride!”

It was the white she-cat who replied, shaking her head sadly. “Pride in what, Honeyleaf? We can’t feed ourselves because the rats have chased off all the prey. No kits have been born in moons. The only ceremonies we have now are to send our Clanmates to our ancestors.”

The ginger she-cat’s head whipped around, her green eyes narrowing to slits. “Look, Frostclaw—”

“Will we hold ceremonies for Sunpelt and Fallensnow?” the young warrior with the shredded ears interrupted. His voice was trembling with grief.

“We will, Rowanfur.” Spiderstar dipped his head to the young cat. “Their spirits are free now to walk among the stars.”

“What?” A gray tabby elder rose shakily to his paws. “Sunpelt and Fallensnow are dead? Then where are their bodies? We must sit vigil for them and then bury them.”

“Oakstep, we had to leave them behind,” Swallowflight spat out with a lash of his tail. “We were too busy fleeing to save our own pelts to carry our fallen Clanmates.” He turned away, his head bowed as if he couldn’t bear to go on looking at the others.

Frostclaw padded up and sat quietly beside him, pushing her nose into the black tom’s matted shoulder fur. “Swallowflight, there was nothing else we could have done for them. No cat could blame us.”

“She’s right,” Brackenheart meowed quietly. “Our Clanmates hunt with StarClan now. They’ll understand.”

Spiderstar nodded, his eyes dark with pain and loss.

“But if you had brought them back we could have buried them!” Oakstep protested. “Where is the honor in leaving them to be picked over by the rats? Sunpelt and Fallensnow should never be crow-food!”

Every paw step an effort, he started to hobble up the trail that led to the top of the gorge. Before he had gone more than a few fox-lengths, Spiderstar darted in front of him and forced the grief-stricken elder to stop.

“We have lost enough Clanmates tonight,” he mewed. “Let us pray for their spirits as they join StarClan.”

Swallowflight’s ears pricked, and he turned to look at his Clan leader. “StarClan? Do you think they are really watching over us?” His whiskers twitched with disgust. “If they cared about us at all, they would never have let the rats come.”

Honeyleaf whirled to face her Clanmate. “StarClan has given us the warrior code, and with that comes the courage and skill to defeat our enemies. SkyClan is not defeated yet!”

Silence greeted her words. It was several heartbeats before Spiderstar spoke, his voice aching with sadness. “Honeyleaf, you’re wrong. We are defeated. I cannot bear to lead my Clanmates into one more battle, to watch them starve through another leaf-bare, afraid of every noise, every stirring leaf. We have become prey.” He heaved a sigh from the depths of his chest. “The rats have won. SkyClan is no more.”

A chorus of protest broke out at the Clan leader’s words. The third elder, a sandy-colored she-cat, hauled herself to her paws and padded up to face him, her whiskers twitching.

“That can’t be right, Spiderstar,” she growled. “I was a kit when we lived in the forest, when the Twolegs stole our territory and the other Clans forced us to leave. Some cats thought SkyClan was finished, but we found a new home for ourselves, here in the gorge. If losing our home didn’t beat us, neither should this battle.”

“Mousefang’s right.” Oakstep padded to his Clanmate’s side. “We can’t give up now.”

“Show us these rats and we’ll fight them,” another elder, Nightfur, added.

“I never knew the forest, but I honor your memories of it.” Spiderstar dipped his head to the three old cats, respect in his eyes. “No cat doubts your courage, my friends, but there’s nothing that any of us can do. There are too many rats.”

“Then there has to be another answer!” Honeyleaf burst out. “Spiderstar, I’ve tried to be a good, brave, loyal deputy, to you and to SkyClan. I’ve worked my paws off, and I’ve never been afraid to fight. I didn’t come this far just to watch our Clan die!”

Spiderstar reached out to touch the she-cat’s shoulder with the tip of his tail. “You have been the best deputy a cat could wish for,” he told her. “And you would have led your Clan with the same honor and courage. Every cat knows that.”

“What do you mean, ‘would have’?” Honeyleaf drew her lips back in the beginning of a snarl; her neck fur bristled up. “I—”

“This is all a load of mouse dung.” Nightfur cut off what the deputy was about to say. “How are we supposed to survive as loners if we can’t survive as a Clan?”

For a few heartbeats no cat answered; they exchanged dismayed glances with one another, as if the old black tom’s words had suddenly made them realize that they were facing a future without the support of their Clan. Even Honeyleaf subsided, her fur settling flat again and only her tail-tip twitching.

“I… I’ve been taking food from Twolegs now and again,” Frostclaw admitted, lowering her head and giving her mangled paw a lick. “It doesn’t taste too bad, if you’re hungry.”

“What?” Honeyleaf’s ears pricked. “Food from Twolegs? That’s completely against the warrior code!”

Frostclaw blinked at her guiltily and didn’t try to defend herself.

The young ginger tom, Rowanfur, padded up to her and pressed himself against her side. “So what?” he meowed defiantly. “I’ve been taking food from Twolegs, too. I’d rather do that than starve. I reckon they’d take us into their dens,” he added, his voice shaking a little. “I think they’re sorry for us, seeing how thin we are. If we went to live with them, we’d have shelter and we’d be safe from the rats.”

One or two of the other cats nodded and murmured agreement.

Honeyleaf stalked into the middle of the group, raking them with an icy glare from her green eyes. “Kittypets? You want to be kittypets? SkyClan warriors will never do that! It would be the greatest shame of all!”

“That’s true!” Swallowflight agreed with a lash of his tail. “I’d rather die than go crawling to Twolegs for food!”

None of the other cats could meet the deputy’s accusing stare. At last, Mousefang asked quietly, “Brackenheart, have you had a sign from StarClan? Can they tell us what to do?”

The young medicine cat padded forward, his eyes downcast. “I feel nothing but sadness and guilt coming from our ancestors,” he confessed. “Guilt for taking us away from the forest, and sadness because SkyClan is coming to an end.”

“What?” Oakstep’s eyes stretched wide with horror. “Has even StarClan given up on us? I remember when Cloudstar led us away from the forest,” he went on when no cat answered him. “He said we should never look to the spirits of our warrior ancestors again, and he was right. We should never have listened to StarClan. They have done nothing for us!”

By now the sunlight had almost gone, and warriors of StarClan were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. But none of the cats in the gorge looked up at their frosty glitter. Instead, they huddled together at the bottom of the cliff, where the rocks retained a little warmth from the sun, and there was shelter from the chilly wind.

“Then this is the end,” a black-and-white tom meowed. “Rowanfur, will you show me where to get Twoleg food?”

“Of course,” the ginger tom replied. “Any cats who want to can come with me and Frostclaw.”

A gray she-cat got up and padded to his side. “I’ll come, too. There’ll be food and warmth with the Twolegs. The warrior code can’t feed or shelter us. It’s just words.”

“I never thought I’d hear a SkyClan warrior say that!” Honeyleaf hissed, horrified. “The warrior code lives in all of us, when we hunt and fight and give thanks for the life of a Clan cat.”

The gray she-cat whipped around to face her. “I do not give thanks for this life! It is over!”

Honeyleaf slid out her claws, and for a heartbeat it seemed as if the two she-cats would turn on each other, screeching and clawing. Then the Clan deputy turned her back.

“Well, I won’t turn into a mewling kittypet,” she insisted, her bristling fur showing how furious she was. “If we can’t stay here, I’m going farther up the gorge, away from the rats. There might be better hunting there.”

“I’ll come with you,” Swallowflight meowed. “We’ll survive better if we hunt together.”

All three elders sat silent as the warriors discussed where they would go. At last Mousefang raised her head to meet Spiderstar’s sorrowful gaze. “I want to stay here,” she stated flatly. “I’m too old to find a new place. This is where I belong.”

“Me too,” murmured Nightfur, giving the old she-cat’s ear a lick. “The rats don’t come here. There’s water, and we can still find the odd mouse or beetle.”

“It’s not like we have much time left,” Oakstep added.

Once again Spiderstar dipped his head. “I will stay with you,” he meowed. “I will see that each of you has an honorable ending, to give thanks for your loyalty.”

Nightfur nodded, his eyes full of grief and loss too deep for words.

“I’ll stay, too,” Brackenheart added. “This is where I can make the best use of my medicine cat skills… before I am no longer a medicine cat.”

He rose to his paws, glancing around at the remnants of his Clan, gathering their attention as a queen gathers her kits into the shelter of her tail. Then he looked up at the sky, staring unblinkingly at the cold light of his warrior ancestors.

“May StarClan light your path, Fallensnow, and yours, Sunpelt, as you walk the skies to join them,” he meowed. “May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep.”

The cats around him murmured their agreement with the words spoken for each fallen warrior.

Spiderstar heaved a deep sigh. “May StarClan light a path for all of us. We still live on, but our Clan has died.”

No cat responded. Their eyes shone in the starlight, full of fear and despair, as they stared at the cat who had been their Clan leader. Spiderstar did not meet their gaze, as if he was too overwhelmed by shame at the destruction of the Clan he had led for so many seasons.

Brackenheart remained silent for a heartbeat, then gave his pelt a swift shake, as if he had just pulled himself out of icy water. “Come,” he mewed. “It’s time I looked at your injuries.”

With a wave of his tail, the young brown tabby led his wounded Clanmates to his den, where he stopped the worst of their bleeding with cobwebs, and made poultices of marigold against infection. For Honeyleaf and the other cats who were leaving to explore farther up the gorge, he made up bundles of traveling herbs.

“May StarClan walk with you,” he meowed as they left.

Honeyleaf bounded away without replying. Brackenheart followed her out of the den, and sat beside Spiderstar to watch his Clan separate for the last time. The moon had drifted from behind a patch of cloud, shedding a frosty light over the rocks and the river. The dark outlines of the departing cats slipped up the trail to the top of the gorge, and were lost to sight. Only Spiderstar, Brackenheart, and the three elders were left.

“Let’s move our nests into the elders’ den,” Brackenheart suggested quietly to Spiderstar. “That way we can take care of them until they don’t need us anymore.”

Spiderstar nodded, looking around the empty gorge. It was still littered with the lives of so many cats, with memories like shadows clinging to each rock and crevice.

“I wonder…” He sighed. “Will a Clan ever live here again?”

“I think they will. One day, cats will return here and find a way to succeed where we have failed.” A deeper echo sounded in Brackenheart’s voice, a strength that came from pride and courage and unflinching loyalty to the warrior code. “This is the leaf-bare of our Clan. Greenleaf will come, but it will bring even greater storms than these. SkyClan will need deeper roots if it is to survive.”