Night Whispers

by Erin Hunter

  The fallen speck of grit glinted on the frosty ground.

  “It’s probably just prey,” Lionblaze muttered.

  “Mmm, prey.” Graystripe licked his lips and ducked back out of sight. Hazeltail shook out her fur and padded through the thorns to join him outside.

  Cinderheart eyed Lionblaze. “Shall we go and check?”

  Lionblaze hesitated. “It’ll be freezing in the forest.”

  Cinderheart shrugged. “A run will warm us up.”

  “But it’s the middle of the night.” He didn’t want to share his unease with her. And what if there was something there? He felt a protective surge rise in his chest. “You stay here. I’ll check.”

  Cinderheart’s eyes flashed in the moonlight. “I’m not a kit!”

  Flustered, Lionblaze flicked his tail. “I didn’t mean—”

  Cinderheart marched past him. “And I’m not going to stand here till my paws freeze to the ground!”

  Lionblaze sighed as she stalked toward the camp entrance. If Cinderheart was going to be stubborn, there was nothing he could do about it.

  He followed her to the barrier. “We’d better be on the lookout for ShadowClan,” he warned. “They might still have a taste for ThunderClan blood.”

  Cinderheart glanced back at him sharply. “You think?” She pushed her way through the tunnel.

  Lionblaze snorted, annoyed with himself. She was right; he was treating her like a kit.

  “Where are you two going?” Graystripe challenged as they emerged from the wall of thorns.

  “Can’t sleep,” Cinderheart explained.

  “Be careful,” Hazeltail cautioned.

  “We won’t stay out long.” Lionblaze’s breath billowed in front of him. “It’s too cold.” He followed a narrow path through the frosty bracken and up through the trees.

  At the top of the hollow, they emerged from the forest into moonlight. Lionblaze sniffed at the grass edging the cliff top. It was limp with frost, and he could smell nothing but frozen leaves and ice.

  “Are you okay?” Cinderheart’s mew was hushed with concern.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About Russetfur.” Cinderheart tipped her head to one side. “About her dying.”

  Lionblaze stiffened. “About me killing her, you mean?”

  “You had to save Firestar.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Lionblaze turned back to the grass, following the glittering stalks around the hollow’s edge toward a fallen branch. He could only smell ThunderClan scents. No sign of intruders, or prey.

  “You have to talk about it,” Cinderheart persisted. “Every other cat will be talking about it. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened!” The words burst from Lionblaze, anger flooding quickly after. He sprang onto the fallen branch and turned on his Clanmate. “I never meant to kill her!” He tore at the bark, ripping chunks out with his claws. “I was just trying to save Firestar! But I didn’t even manage to do that. He still lost a life!”

  Cinderheart flinched from the spray of splinters. “You did save Firestar.” Her voice was firm. “Who knows what Russetfur would’ve done next? She might have taken all his lives.”

  Why was she making him remember? He was suddenly back in the battle, Russetfur struggling in his grip as he tried to rip her from Firestar. He shuddered as he felt her grow limp beneath his claws. Why had StarClan let him kill her?

  Cinderheart kept pushing. “Every warrior knows they might die in battle. Why are you so upset? Are you afraid ShadowClan will retaliate?” Her dark blue eyes reflected the stars. “Why should they? Death happens. Clans have more to worry about than losing a warrior.”

  “She was their deputy!” Lionblaze snapped.

  Cinderheart met his gaze. “She was old.”

  Lionblaze’s anger weakened its grip. He was suddenly sorry he had let his temper get the better of him. “A true warrior doesn’t kill to win,” he murmured. “Remember the code?”

  Cinderheart blinked, her pelt smoothing, then turned and stared into the trees as though watching a thought drift into the forest. “Maybe times are changing,” she breathed.

  Lionblaze stiffened. “No!”

  Cinderheart shifted her paws.

  “What do you mean?” Lionblaze pressed. “The warrior code is the same as it always was. How can something that important to all the Clans change?”

  Cinderheart shrugged. “Can’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Lionblaze felt his pelt start to prickle. Had Dovepaw given something away about the prophecy?

  “Something . . .” Cinderheart seemed to be searching for the right words. “Something feels different. The battle was so vicious—too vicious for a fight over boundaries—almost as if it was just the beginning of something much worse.” Her eyes were round, dark pools.

  Lionblaze stared at her. Was she the only cat to feel this way? He was used to the prophecy: There will be three who will hold the power of the stars in their paws. He’d known for moons that ancient enemies were stirring. The Clans were on the edge of darkness. The knowledge colored every moment for him now; it shaped every thought. But the rest of the Clan must be protected from knowing. It was more than they could comprehend, more than they could cope with, however hard they trained, however much they believed in the warrior code.

  “Have you had a dream? Some warning?” he demanded. “If you have, you should tell Firestar.”

  Cinderheart shook her head. “No. It just feels wrong that Russetfur tried to kill Firestar. She was a fine warrior. Why try and kill him? She must’ve known StarClan would disapprove.”

  Lionblaze leaned forward as she went on.

  “It was like something darker was driving ShadowClan.”

  A shriek from the trees made them both spin, fur on end, claws unsheathed. A white owl wheeled from between the trunks. It dived toward them, the air from the downbeat of its wide, snowy wings lifting their fur as it swooped past.

  “What in the name of StarClan?” Lionblaze gasped.

  A wing tip whipped against his muzzle, and he fought to keep his balance on the branch as, with another shriek, the owl whirled away over the hollow. With a startled yowl, Cinderheart pelted into the trees, her tail bristled like gorse. Lionblaze hared after her.

  He started to call to his denmate, to reassure her, but he stopped himself. Running would wear out her fear soon enough. Besides, the cold night wind felt good in his fur. He felt powerful. Trees blurred around him; branches trembled as he passed. Cinderheart’s tail, a fox-length ahead, was already beginning to smooth, snaking behind her as she plunged through a stand of bracken. He followed, the frozen stalks scraping his pelt.

  Cinderheart swerved as they burst from the bracken. The forest floor dropped away in a short steep slope that Cinderheart leaped in an easy stride, landing lightly and racing onward. She veered to skirt a knot of bare brambles. The trees grew thicker around them as they headed deeper into the forest. Lionblaze let Cinderheart lead, enjoying the warmth of her wake, matching her pace, concentrating only on the ground beneath his paws.

  When Cinderheart began to slow, he slowed too, flanks heaving, breath coming in hard gasps, as together they pulled to a halt. Lionblaze was surprised to see the abandoned Twoleg nest, dark against the darker trees. He hadn’t realized they had run so far. They trotted past in silence and headed up the oak-lined slope behind the stones. Brambles sprang in front of them, but Cinderheart kept pushing her way through until she stumbled into a tiny clearing.

  Behind her, Lionblaze stopped with a jolt.

  “What is it?” Cinderheart asked, turning.

  Lionblaze stared around the cramped space, hedged by thorns. He had been here once before. Then the sloping ground had been flat and grassy, dipping down in the center to a hole. Now the hole was gone, and instead of smooth grass, rocks and mud had set like a scab on the forest floor.

  Lionblaze felt sick. Somewhere below that wound
ed earth lay his sister Hollyleaf’s body. This was where she had fled into the tunnels after finding out that Leafpool was their real mother. The entrance had collapsed and disappeared behind a mudslide, trapping her forever.

  “What is it?” Cinderheart’s whiskers brushed his.

  Lionblaze shook his head. Only he and Jayfeather knew the truth of Hollyleaf’s disappearance, the reason she had vanished underground: not just because of Leafpool, but because she had killed Ashfur, the only cat apart from them and Squirrelflight who knew, in order to keep the secret. When Ashfur’s death changed nothing in the storm inside Hollyleaf’s head, she had announced the truth at a Gathering, then returned to confront Leafpool one final time before fleeing to the tunnel. As far as her Clanmates were concerned, she had died in a tragic accident, and Ashfur’s murderer was still unknown, presumed to be a passing rogue.

  Lionblaze had been so excited when he’d first seen the tunnels. The wonder of them! A secret place to meet and have fun. Now he stared at the fractured earth and wished Heathertail had never found them. Guilt pricked his pelt as he remembered playing underground with the pretty WindClan warrior while they were both still apprentices.

  A growl rumbled in his throat. If Heathertail hadn’t discovered the tunnels, Hollyleaf might still be alive.

  “Lionblaze?” Cinderheart’s anxious mew brought Lionblaze to his senses. His paws ached, and he realized he had been digging his claws deep into the frozen earth.

  “What is it?” Cinderheart was staring at him with her head to one side. “Are you still spooked by the owl?”

  “I guess so.” Lionblaze unhooked his claws from the earth and smoothed his fur with a few licks. “Let’s check the ShadowClan border,” he suggested, hoping to distract her. “We’re almost there.”

  “Not still scared they’re after our blood?”

  Lionblaze glanced at the lightening sky, ignoring her teasing. “It’s nearly dawn,” he meowed. “We can do an early patrol and report back to Firestar.”

  Cinderheart looked relieved. “You sound like a warrior again.” She brushed past him. “You had me worried.”

  Lionblaze fell in beside her. “Worried about me?”

  “Why not?” She stopped and gazed at him seriously. “You’re a good friend.”

  Maybe more than a friend?

  Before he could summon the courage to say it out loud, she darted away.

  “I’ll race you!” she called.

  Lionblaze gave chase, keeping up easily as Cinderheart swerved between the trees. Would he ever have the nerve to tell her he wanted her to be more than a friend? His fur prickled with frustration. He could be the bravest warrior in all four Clans, but the thought of telling Cinderheart how he felt drained every drop of courage from him.

  Stars glimmered between the trunks ahead. They were nearing the edge of the forest.

  He quickened his pace. “Hurry up!” He pulled ahead of Cinderheart, pretending to tease. Truthfully, he wanted to reach the Twoleg clearing before she did. They had fought for it and won it, but he still didn’t trust ShadowClan. There was no way he was going to let Cinderheart run into a trap.

  He stopped at the edge of the trees, signaling to Cinderheart with his tail to keep back. She ignored him and crouched at his side as he peered across the frost-whitened grass. “I wish Firestar had never asked for it back!” she muttered.

  Lionblaze snapped his head around and stared at her, shocked.

  She shifted her paws. “I just mean it’s impossible to patrol.” There was an apology in her mew, as though she sensed she’d spoken too hastily. “ShadowClan can see us patrolling the moment we set paw out of the forest, and the hunting’s so poor, and the Twolegs are here all greenleaf—” She broke off.

  Lionblaze saw the sense in her argument and wanted to tell her that he’d had doubts about the battle, too. Had it really been worth the blood that had been spilled? But he held his tongue. The Clan had to remain strong and united, now more than ever.

  He stifled a shiver. The sound of battle echoed in his ears. Yet again, he felt Russetfur’s life ebb away beneath his claws. Sickness rose in his throat, and he pressed his belly to the earth.

  “Someone’s watching us!” Cinderheart’s hiss jerked him back to the present.

  “Where?”

  Cinderheart pointed with her muzzle, and Lionblaze spotted a pair of eyes gleaming from among the ShadowClan trees on the other side of the clearing.

  In a flash, Lionblaze was tearing across the grass. No cat was going to touch the newly won ThunderClan territory. Pelt bristling with anger, he skidded to a halt a tail-length from the ShadowClan border, ears flattened, tail lashing.

  The eyes blinked at him calmly; then a cat stepped out from the trees.

  Flametail.

  The ShadowClan medicine cat stared at him boldly. “Come to kill me like you killed Russetfur?” he growled.

  Cinderheart’s paws sounded behind Lionblaze. “This is our territory now,” she warned the ShadowClan cat. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

  Flametail snorted and padded closer, crossing the scent line as casually as if he were padding into his own camp. “I’m a medicine cat,” he reminded them. “I can go where I please.”

  Lionblaze swallowed against the rage that rose from his belly. ShadowClan arrogance! “Shouldn’t you be back at your camp, treating your wounded?”

  “My Clanmates are well.” Flametail fixed his gaze on Lionblaze. “Except for Russetfur, of course.”

  Lionblaze had to stop himself from leaping at the young cat. Didn’t Flametail understand the significance of the battle? Didn’t he understand how much it had cost both Clans?

  He felt Cinderheart’s tail brush his flank. “Enough,” she murmured, smoothing his bristling fur. “He wants a reaction. Don’t give it to him.”

  Lionblaze let her soft mew soothe him and pulled in his claws.

  “You’d best steer well clear of ThunderClan today,” Cinderheart told the ShadowClan cat. “We have to set new markers, and yours is not the only Clan that has suffered from the battle.”

  Flametail blinked at Lionblaze, ignoring Cinderheart. “Once I thought we were kin,” he spat. “Now I’m glad we’re not. I would hate to share blood with a murderer.”

  Lionblaze let out a warning yowl, but Flametail turned and, chin high, stalked back into the trees.

  “The fox-hearted coward!” Lionblaze wanted to tear Flametail to shreds and feel his life ebb away as Russetfur’s had.

  “Let’s go.” Cinderheart circled him nervously, edging him backward, away from the ShadowClan border. “There’s nothing we can do here except make more trouble.”

  Growling, Lionblaze turned and plunged across the clearing. Reaching the ThunderClan forest, he crashed through a wall of brambles, hardly feeling the thorns that slashed his muzzle and tugged lumps from his pelt. Rage and grief blinded him as he raced through the forest. He headed for the hollow, running blindly, ignoring Graystripe and Hazeltail as they welcomed him back. The thorn barrier swooshed past him as he hurtled into camp.

  Berrynose was at the nursery entrance, looking rather startled. “Is everything okay?” he called.

  “Fine.”

  Berrynose narrowed his eyes for a moment, then nodded and disappeared into the brambles. Squeaks of welcome sounded inside as Molekit and Cherrykit greeted their father.

  “Lionblaze?” Jayfeather was beside the warriors’ den.

  “What are you doing awake?” Lionblaze panted. “It’s not even dawn.”

  “Checking on the wounded cats.”

  “Is everyone okay?”

  Jayfeather nodded and headed for the barrier. “Come with me,” he instructed. “We need to talk.”

  Lionblaze was starting to feel bone tired from all his running. “What about?” he grumbled mutinously.

  Jayfeather narrowed his eyes. “Ivypaw,” he growled.

  Chapter 4

  “Ivypaw?”

  Dovepaw sat up, blinking.
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  Lionblaze’s disbelieving mew had woken her, ringing in her ears as clearly as a blackbird’s alarm. She jerked her head around, searching the apprentices’ den for him, but he wasn’t there. Ivypaw was sleeping; Blossomfall and Bumblestripe were still snoring in their nests. They’d move to the new warriors’ den once it was finished. Then Ivypaw and Dovepaw would be alone, the only apprentices in the Clan until Molekit and Cherrykit became ’paws.

  “Yes, Ivypaw.” That was Jayfeather speaking.

  Dovepaw shook her head. She must be hearing voices outside the den. She reached past the den walls into the ice-cold camp, casting her senses, searching for the conversation that had disturbed her sleep.

  “Are you sure?” Lionblaze sounded breathless with disbelief.

  What were they saying about Ivypaw? Why did they sound so worried? Trembling, Dovepaw scrambled out of the den. I’m one of the Three. They should be talking to me. I’m Ivypaw’s sister. She headed for the barrier, hurrying lightly over the frosted earth.

  The entrance was less than a tail-length away when a voice called from outside the nursery. “Dovepaw!”

  She halted, frustrated.

  Berrynose was watching her. “Where are you going?” The young warrior’s creamy coat glowed in the pale light. Molekit and Cherrykit huddled beside him, tiny clouds of air spouting from their noses.

  “Dirtplace.”

  “Then use the dirtplace tunnel.”

  Lionblaze’s voice pricked Dovepaw’s ear fur once more. “She knew him?”

  Knew who?

  Dovepaw had to find out. She turned and trotted to the dirtplace tunnel. She could slip out that way and find them.

  Paw steps followed her. “Are you going to the dirtplace?” Ivypaw, her fur ruffled from sleep, fell in beside her. “Me too.”

  Dovepaw curled her claws with frustration. There was no way she could slip away now. Ivypaw would want to come with her. As she pricked her ears, searching out Lionblaze again, she noticed that Ivypaw was limping.

  “What’s wrong?” Her worries swiftly focused on her sister. Ivypaw was favoring one of her hind paws, treading lightly on one, heavily on the other. “I thought you weren’t injured in the battle.”