Night Whispers

by Erin Hunter

  The pebbles swished as Lionblaze bounded away, and Jayfeather darted over the crest of the slope into the shelter of the trees. As the musty scents of dying foliage touched his nose, memories of the Dark Forest flooded his mind. He couldn’t believe that Tigerstar had found a recruit in ThunderClan. Strange that it should be Ivypaw. Perhaps Dovepaw wasn’t the only one of the sisters with a destiny.

  Jayfeather tried to focus on the familiar scents of ThunderClan territory—prey scuttling over frosty bark, birds calling in the branches above—but only sensed fear beating in every tiny heart as leaf-bare tightened its grip on the forest. It was the season of death, and by newleaf cold and hunger would have slain the weakest.

  Shivering, he pushed the thought away and hurried down the brambly trail that led toward the hollow. Cold air pooled outside the thorn barrier, but as he pushed through and broke from the tunnel, he felt warmth wash his pelt. His Clanmates were busy.

  “We can lift this branch and prop it up with a beech branch,” Leafpool called from the warriors’ den. “If we weave new walls around it, there’ll be room for at least three more nests.”

  Jayfeather picked his way through the clutter of twigs piled anew for the warriors’ den.

  “Watch out,” Millie warned as he neared the fresh-kill pile. “Birchfall’s digging a hole to preserve prey.” When the earth froze, prey could be kept fresh for days by burying it.

  Jayfeather lingered at the edge of the prey-hole. “Do you think this weather’s going to last?” he asked Millie.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s best to be safe,” she replied. “We need to preserve as much as we can.”

  “Jayfeather!” Bumblestripe yowled from the medicine den.

  Jayfeather jerked his head up and felt anxiety flash from Millie. Was Briarlight worse? He raced for the cave, forcing his way through the trailing brambles that veiled the entrance.

  Bumblestripe was standing in the middle of the den, his fur scented with bark and damp green leaves. “Look what we’ve brought you,” he announced cheerfully.

  Beneath the forest smells, Jayfeather picked up the dusty scent of cobwebs. “I thought something was wrong!”

  Millie ran into the den. “Is Briarlight okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Brightheart padded forward. “Bumblestripe found great clumps of web behind the ivy on the Great Oak.” The one-eyed warrior sounded proud. “He had to climb a long way up to reach it.”

  Briarlight fidgeted in her nest. “Isn’t he brave?”

  Jayfeather sniffed Brightheart’s pelt, alert for the sour scent of infection. “How are your wounds?”

  “A bit sore,” she admitted. “But they were hardly more than scratches. They’ll heal.”

  “Make sure you don’t reopen any of the cuts,” Jayfeather warned. “Is your torn ear hurting?” he asked Bumblestripe.

  “Stings a bit, but in this weather, everyone’s ear tips are stinging.”

  Jayfeather stopped beside Briarlight’s nest and bent to listen to the young cat’s breathing. The roughness had eased. “Make sure you do some exercise today,” he ordered.

  “She’s already been to the fresh-kill pile,” Bumblestripe announced.

  “Do you want to check these cobwebs?” Brightheart asked Jayfeather. “They’re good and thick.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.” Jayfeather wished his Clanmates’ enthusiasm could brighten his mood. “Brightheart,” he mewed, “would you take moss to the nursery, please? The kits will need fresh bedding.” He felt her stiffen with surprise. “I know it’s an apprentice duty,” he went on apologetically, “but our two apprentices are out training.”

  “Of course.” Brightheart headed for the entrance. “I’ll take Bumblestripe with me. After finding cobwebs, he’ll have no trouble sniffing out some moss.”

  As they left, Jayfeather turned to Millie. “Birchfall will probably need help with the prey-hole.”

  “Are you sure Briarlight’s okay?” Millie pressed.

  “She’s better every day.”

  “You don’t think it’s too soon to make her do her exercises?” Millie’s tail swished over Briarlight’s flank. “She looks so tired.”

  Jayfeather let out a breath slowly. “I’m not making her do more than she can manage.”

  “It stops me from getting bored,” Briarlight put in.

  Jayfeather sensed uncertainty lingering around Millie. “Go back to work,” he murmured. “Worrying won’t help.”

  As the warrior pushed her way out of the den, Briarlight’s nest rustled. “You could have thanked Brightheart and Bumblestripe for the cobwebs,” she scolded him. “They found enough to keep you going till greenleaf.”

  The brambles rustled at the den entrance before Jayfeather could reply.

  “Jayfeather!” Dovepaw’s fraught mew jangled the air.

  Briarlight twitched in her nest. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Jayfeather told his patient quickly, knowing exactly what was troubling the young apprentice. “Follow me.” He nudged her out of the den. “I need to check on Firestar. His wounds may need re-dressing.”

  “I know about Ivypaw,” Dovepaw hissed as soon as they were clear of the brambles. “She’s training with the Dark Forest warriors.”

  “Keep your voice down!” Jayfeather spat.

  “But we have to do something!”

  Jayfeather winced as a stray beech twig jabbed his foreleg. “Like what? Order her not to go? Do you think she’ll listen?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Fear edged Dovepaw’s mew.

  Jayfeather steered her to the side of the clearing. “Look,” he breathed. “She’s made her choice. Perhaps we should just keep an eye on her and see what she does. We might be able to learn something about our enemy.”

  “Ivypaw’s not our enemy!” Dovepaw sounded desperate. “She’s my littermate. I can’t let this happen to her. StarClan knows what Tigerstar will do to her!”

  “I’m not going to stand here and discuss this with you,” Jayfeather growled, then turned as the thorn barrier rustled. Mousewhisker, Toadstep, and Rosepetal were pushing their way through, warming the air with the scent of fresh prey. “Not here. Not now.” He began to pad toward the warriors’ den. “Go help your Clanmates. There’s plenty to do.”

  He left Dovepaw standing in a haze of bewildered fear and headed for Highledge. I’ll talk to her later, he told himself. When we have a chance to go into the forest, away from pricked ears and curious eyes.

  From the scents drifting from the fresh-kill pile, Mousewhisker’s patrol had brought back thrush, vole, and pigeon.

  “We’re going to have to dig this prey-hole deeper,” Millie meowed.

  “Not till I’ve had something to eat.” Soil crumbled as Birchfall hopped out of the hole.

  “Mousewhisker!” Cherrykit’s mew sounded from the entrance. “You left this behind!”

  Jayfeather heard fur brush the earth by the barrier of thorns. Cherrykit and Molekit were dragging something heavy into the hollow.

  “A squirrel!” Birchfall licked his lips and bounded toward the pair of kits. “Did you catch it yourselves?” he teased.

  “We found it outside,” Molekit explained. “Mousewhisker’s patrol must have dropped it.”

  “We didn’t catch a squirrel.” Mousewhisker’s puzzled mew rang from the fresh-kill pile.

  Poppyfrost came hurrying from the dirtplace tunnel. “What were you two doing outside camp?” she scolded. “And in weather like this!”

  “We’re going to need two prey-holes at this rate,” Millie commented as Birchfall carried the squirrel across the clearing.

  As Jayfeather climbed the rocks to Highledge, Sandstorm poked her head out of Firestar’s den.

  “How is he?” Jayfeather asked, reaching the top.

  “Tired, and complaining about staying in his nest.”

  Jayfeather squeezed past her into the small cave. The ThunderClan leader yawned and sat up. The wound at his t
hroat smelled clean and dry.

  “Does it hurt?” Jayfeather touched the gash gently with his nose tip, feeling for warmth and swelling. The fur was stiff with dried blood, but the flesh beneath felt healthy and soft.

  Firestar pulled away. “I’ll let you know if it does.” He shook out his sleep-flattened fur. “Is Brambleclaw back?”

  Sandstorm answered. “Not yet.”

  “I hope the border marking went well,” Firestar growled. “I want ShadowClan to know for sure what is now ours.”

  Jayfeather’s tail twitched. He thinks we were just two Clans fighting over a piece of territory.

  “Jayfeather?” Firestar sounded tense. “Is there something you want to say?”

  Should I tell him about Ivypaw? That the cat who persuaded him to fight for the Twoleg clearing is being trained by Dark Forest warriors? Surely the ThunderClan leader should be warned that dreams and signs no longer came only from StarClan?

  No. We can manage this alone.

  “They’re back!” Sandstorm turned quickly and slipped out of the cave. “Brambleclaw and Dustpelt!”

  The rocks clattered as she bounded down to the clearing. Squeezing past Jayfeather, Firestar followed. Jayfeather listened from Highledge as Brambleclaw, Dustpelt, and their patrols halted below him. He could smell the scents of frost and forest rising from their pelts, and the faint tang of ShadowClan lingering on their paws.

  “Are the markers set?” Firestar asked his deputy.

  “Ours are,” Brambleclaw answered.

  Dustpelt stepped forward. “ShadowClan hasn’t set their scent line yet.”

  Millie trotted over from the prey-hole. “They’re refusing to acknowledge the new border!” she declared indignantly.

  “They have to acknowledge it!” Leafpool had left her work on the warriors’ den to listen in.

  “They don’t have to do anything,” Birchfall pointed out.

  Millie’s pelt sparked with anger. “But they lost the battle.”

  Jayfeather recognized the slow, solid step of Purdy as the loner padded from the elders’ den. “Are you sure they know they lost?”

  “Well, of course they do!” Mousefur jostled past her denmate. “Lionblaze killed their deputy.”

  No cat spoke, but paws shifted and tails brushed the earth until Firestar stepped forward. “We regret the loss of Russetfur,” he meowed heavily.

  Where’s Lionblaze? Jayfeather’s paws pricked. He should be here to defend himself.

  “Lionblaze should have been more careful,” Brambleclaw muttered.

  Jayfeather swallowed back his rage. Lionblaze must face the charge himself. If Jayfeather answered for him, it would look as though Lionblaze were hiding from what he’d done. He heard fur snagging on thorns as the barrier moved.

  Ivypaw.

  She slipped into camp and wove among her Clanmates. “What’s going on?”

  Jayfeather’s pelt grew cold. Light pierced his blind blue eyes, and he could suddenly see Ivypaw, clear as in a dream, her silver pelt bright against the frost-whitened clearing. Foreboding gripped his heart as the vision unfolded. Shadows slid over the top of the hollow, engulfing the dens, swallowing ThunderClan’s warriors. Dark Forest cats swarmed down the cliffs, slithering like lizards over the stone. Their eyes shone red, and their teeth and claws glinted like crystal, flashing in the shadows as they crowded the hollow.

  With a roar of fury, ThunderClan rose to meet them. Graystripe slashed at a brown-pelted tom, who lunged for his throat and flung the gray warrior flailing to his death. Millie screeched and fell on her mate’s murderer, but two warriors ripped the fur from her back and dragged her wailing into the darkness.

  ThunderClan was outnumbered and overwhelmed.

  Birchfall, shrieking in agony and rage, was slaughtered by merciless claws. Dustpelt sank, his throat ripped by savage fangs. One by one, ThunderClan’s warriors fell until the clearing was heaped with bodies. Blood spilled from their mouths, pooled on the ground, and spread a grim shadow over the earth. It oozed from the dens, flooded from the walls of the hollow, and dripped from the thorns of the nursery until the whole camp shone crimson.

  Only Ivypaw remained unstained.

  Dark Forest warriors swirled around her, triumph lighting their eyes. Ivypaw stood as still as stone, pooled in moonlight, unhurt, unafraid. Jayfeather’s heart seemed to stop as she raised her muzzle and stared directly at him, her eyes black as night, her gaze blank.

  A hiss of horror sounded beside Jayfeather, and he turned, fur on end.

  Spottedleaf crouched beside him, her expression dark with despair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t change anything.”

  Chapter 6

  Flametail’s paws slid over the frozen pine needles as he raced for camp. He unsheathed his claws to get a better grip and thought again of Lionblaze. Puffing out his chest as though StarClan likes him best. Typical ThunderClan.

  A blackbird shrilled from high in the pines as Toadfoot sprang into Flametail’s path.

  Flametail skidded to a halt. “Watch out!”

  “Just checking your reflexes,” Toadfoot teased, hopping out of the way.

  “Check this!” Flametail lunged and rolled his Clanmate to the ground.

  Toadfoot struggled free and leaped to his paws, purring. “I bet none of the other Clans have a medicine cat who fights like a warrior.” He shook out his dark brown fur. “Where’ve you been?”

  “At the new border.”

  Toadfoot snorted. “Have they marked it yet?”

  “Brambleclaw was setting a scent line when I left.”

  “ThunderClan cats have smaller brains than I thought if they believe we’re going to let them keep that land.”

  Flametail snorted in agreement. “They must know the battle isn’t over yet.”

  Fur brushed the ground nearby. Flametail jerked his head around, wrinkling his nose as he smelled death.

  Toadfoot followed his gaze. “They’re burying Russetfur.”

  “Let’s join them.”

  Flametail led the way to where Rowanclaw and Rat-scar were dragging the old ShadowClan deputy’s stiff body through the sun-striped pines. Rowanclaw was Flametail’s father, made deputy only last night.

  Pelts flashed among the pines as the Clan filed from the camp to gather around the grave.

  “We will miss her wisdom.” Tallpoppy’s eyes glistened as she took her place alongside the other elders. Cedarheart and Whitewater shuffled to make room for her.

  Snaketail held his gray-flecked chin high as Russetfur was dragged toward her resting place. “Many hard-won skills and memories have died with our Clanmate,” he rasped.

  Ratscar and Rowanclaw halted at the grave’s edge and laid Russetfur beside it. Flametail could smell the pine sap he’d rubbed over her pelt as he’d helped Littlecloud prepare the old ShadowClan deputy for vigil.

  “A hard farewell,” Owlclaw murmured.

  Shrewfoot leaned against her denmate. “Was there ever an easy one?”

  Blackstar padded to Russetfur’s side. “She died fighting. She died bravely.” He addressed his Clanmates. “We ask no more than that of our warriors.”

  Cedarheart’s eyes shone. “She was my mentor and taught me well.”

  Rowanclaw dipped his head. “She came to ShadowClan a rogue and died a warrior.”

  Blackstar gazed at the sun as it struggled above the pine-tops. “StarClan will welcome her. What we have lost, they will gain. May her memories become our memories, and her skills become our skills.” He nodded to Rowanclaw, and the orange warrior gripped Russetfur’s scruff in his teeth. Silently, he hauled her body over the grave’s edge and let it fall.

  Blackstar turned, eyes glittering darkly, and led his Clanmates away. Flametail caught up to his father at the camp entrance. “Where’s Littlecloud?”

  “He’s exhausted after a night treating battle wounds. Blackstar ordered him to rest. He’ll share tongues with Russetfur at the Moonpool. He can say his good-byes then.�
� Rowanclaw glanced at his son. “You must be tired, too. You were at his side till dawn.”

  Flametail was weary to his paws but not ready to admit it. “I can rest later,” he insisted. “I just wanted to see the battlefield.”

  “Good.” Rowanclaw nodded. “The land we lost should burn in your mind until it is regained.” He touched his muzzle to Flametail’s head before squeezing through the entrance tunnel. Flametail emerged from the bramble thicket in time to see his father disappear with Blackstar into the leader’s den.

  “Sorry to bother you.” Shrewfoot was blinking at him. The gray she-cat thrust a black paw under his muzzle. “Will you check this?” she mewed. “Littlecloud’s sleeping.”

  Flametail inspected the paw. It was swollen at the lowest joint, and her fur was warm to the touch, but she only winced when he touched it with his nose.

  “Just a sprain,” he assured her. “I’ll give you a poppy seed for the pain.” He led her through the prickly entrance to the medicine den. It opened into a space deep within the bush. Inside, the sandy floor had been hollowed to make the den roomier, and dried-out pine needles scattered to make it soft.

  At the back of the den, Littlecloud stretched and sat up in his nest. The neat tabby tom looked smaller than usual, his eyes wide and his pelt ruffled with sleep.

  Flametail frowned. “Are you okay?” He crossed the den and sniffed his mentor’s pelt. There was more heat in Littlecloud’s fur than he’d expected.

  “I’m fine,” Littlecloud insisted. “Just tired.”

  “Stay in your nest,” Flametail told him.

  Littlecloud didn’t argue, but instead glanced at Shrewfoot waiting by the entrance. “Is she all right?”

  “A sprained paw,” Flametail reported. “I’m going to give her poppy.”

  Littlecloud shook his head. “Just wrap it with comfrey and nettle.” He nodded toward a pile of shredded leaves. “Shrewfoot has always slept a little too heavily on poppy.”