Dovewing's Silence Read online

  The medicine cat’s shoulders slumped. “There is nothing I can do for her now. Let me finish treating Foxleap, then I’ll bring some herbs and cobweb outside to treat you and anyone else that I haven’t seen yet.”

  Dovewing padded back to the clearing. The three bodies of her fallen Clanmates were surrounded by little knots of their kin and closest friends. Ivypool was hunched beside Hollyleaf, licking the soft black fur on her shoulder. Bumblestripe was next to his father at Firestar’s body. The pale gray tom caught Dovewing’s eye and twitched his ears, as if offering to join her instead, but Dovewing shook her head. Graystripe needed him more right now.

  Cloudtail and Berrynose were picking through the remains of the warriors’ den, trying to drag out scraps of bedding. As Dovewing watched, Squirrelflight went over to them and told them to stop.

  “We’ll get nothing done tonight,” she meowed, sounding calmer now, more like a Clan deputy. “We should all get some rest before Brambleclaw returns.”

  He’ll be Bramblestar by then, Dovewing thought. She found a patch of clean sand close to the tree stump where apprentices loved to practice leaping and settled down. Curling her tail over her front paws, she looked up at the pale stars and tried to spot the new warriors of StarClan that had been born this night. But the stars were nothing more than cold glints of light in a depthless sky, and Dovewing felt no comfort from them. Did we really win the battle? Because this doesn’t feel like a victory.

  She pricked her ears, straining to hear how the other Clans were coping with their dead and wounded, but all she heard was a soft rushing sound like wind through leaf-heavy trees. The forest loomed around the hollow, dark and thick with shadows full of menace, and Dovewing wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dovewing woke to find pale dawn light filtering through the leafless branches. She was bitterly cold, and her breath hung in clouds in the still air. All around the clearing, her Clanmates were stirring from where they had slept beneath the sky, huddled around the fallen warriors. Sorreltail’s body had been brought out of the nursery during the night and laid next to Mousefur, a splash of light color against Mousefur’s soft brown pelt. Brackenfur crouched beside his dead mate, his eyes closed, though Dovewing doubted he had slept for a moment.

  A dark tabby shape moved through the clearing, gently rousing each cat. It was Purdy, his muzzle looking grayer than ever and his pelt ruffled with lack of rest. “Our vigil is over,” he meowed quietly to his Clanmates. “These cats must be laid in the ground.” When Molepaw responded with a grunt of protest, Purdy told him, “I am the only elder left. I cannot bury them alone. I need your help.”

  Abashed, the young brown-and-cream tom scrambled to his paws and followed Purdy across the clearing to where the dead cats lay. Others joined them: Graystripe, Rosepetal, Blossomfall, and Bumblestripe. Dovewing fell in behind them, stumbling on paws that felt as cold as stone. As she passed the tangled remnants of the elders’ den, she heard muffled squeaks, loud enough to suggest that Daisy and Brightheart had made room for Sorreltail’s kits in there as well and were keeping them away from the clearing for as long as they possibly could.

  Bumblestripe headed for Firestar’s body, and Dovewing watched her sister pad up to Hollyleaf, her shoulders hunched with grief. Dovewing followed and gently took one side of Hollyleaf’s scruff in her mouth. From the corner of her eye she saw her father go up to Ferncloud. Icecloud and Spiderleg stood beside the little gray body, their heads bowed and their flanks hollow with exhaustion. As Birchfall approached, Dustpelt stepped forward, blocking Ferncloud from view.

  “We can manage, Birchfall,” he mewed.

  The tip of Birchfall’s tail twitched. “She was my mother. I want to carry her on her last journey.”

  Dustpelt flattened his ears. “You gave up that right when you betrayed your Clan,” he growled, so softly that Dovewing could hardly hear. She let go of Hollyleaf’s scruff and shook her head impatiently, trying to sharpen her senses.

  To her surprise, Birchfall didn’t argue. Instead he turned and walked back to the warriors’ den. Dovewing opened her mouth to call after him but Ivypool caught her eye.

  “Don’t say anything,” she warned. “Let’s get this done first.” She bent down and took hold of the other side of Hollyleaf’s neck fur. Poppyfrost and Cloudtail gripped the loose skin on her haunches. Their eyes were dark with sorrow. Dovewing noticed Thornclaw, Mousewhisker, and Blossomfall following her father back to the den. Had their help been turned down as well? A prickle of alarm stirred beneath Dovewing’s fur. Are they being shunned by the other cats because they trained with the Dark Forest? She was distracted as the others hefted Hollyleaf off the ground, and she had to splay her paws to take her share of the weight. Hollyleaf wasn’t heavy, but her cold, stiff form was awkward and unwieldy to move, swinging between the four cats and knocking them off balance. Dustpelt and Spiderleg carried Ferncloud between them as if she weighed no more than a piece of thistledown. Icecloud walked behind with her mother’s tail draped over her shoulder. Bumblestripe, Lionblaze, Cinderheart, and Purdy bore Mousefur among them, the old she-cat silenced forever, her jaws hanging slightly open as if she had something more to say. Firestar was carried by Sandstorm, Graystripe, Squirrelflight, and Millie. Dovewing heard the gray tabby she-cat murmur, “We were born as kittypets, but look at us now, my precious friend.”

  At first Brackenfur seemed reluctant to let anyone else touch Sorreltail, as if they might disturb her. Gently Rosepetal, Berrynose, and Whitewing pressed around the queen’s body and lifted her as carefully as if she were a newborn kit. Brackenfur stooped to cradle Sorreltail’s chin on the back of his neck. His grief clung like mist to his ruffled pelt and Dovewing had to look away.

  Leafpool led the sad procession out of the hollow and into the oldest part of the woods in ThunderClan territory, between the camp and the lakeshore, where oak trees grew twisted and silver with age. The ground here was soft and thick with moss, making it easier to dig. The cats laid down their precious burdens in a row and stepped back to let Leafpool stand over each fallen warrior and send them on their journey to StarClan.

  They are already there, thought Dovewing, recalling the glittering shapes she had seen filing out of the battle-torn camp. She glanced around, looking for the cats who had returned to the warriors’ den. Toadstep and Hazeltail had joined the procession of fallen cats but there was no sign of the others. “Birchfall isn’t here!” she whispered to Ivypool. “Do you think we should fetch him?”

  Her sister looked at her with anger in her eyes. “Our father isn’t here because he knows he wouldn’t be welcome. Every cat knows that Birchfall fought on the side of the Dark Forest. Same for Thornclaw, Mousewhisker, and Blossomfall. They are traitors. As am I, to some of our Clanmates.”

  “That’s so unfair!” Dovewing protested under her breath. “All of those cats switched allegiance thanks to you.”

  Ivypool bent her silver-and-white head. “Our sins are not easily forgiven, not when the battle lost us so many cats. Hollyleaf only died because she saved me from Hawkfrost.” Her whole body shuddered. “Perhaps it should be me lying there instead.”

  Dovewing stepped closer to her sister and wrapped her tail over Ivypool’s flank. “Never say that!” she hissed. “Hollyleaf knew what she was doing. She died as a true warrior, don’t forget.”

  Leafpool finished the words of the ceremony, wishing each cat a safe and swift journey to their starry ancestors and promising to see them again. She walked slowly along the line of dead cats, touching her muzzle to each still, cool head. She paused longest beside Hollyleaf, her lips moving as she whispered one last message to her daughter. Dovewing found herself instinctively pricking her ears to listen, then turned away. Whatever Leafpool was saying, it wasn’t for anyone but Hollyleaf to hear. Dovewing hoped the black she-cat was listening, wherever she was.

  Squirrelflight joined Leafpool beside Hollyleaf and stood in silence for a moment. The deputy�
�s eyes were closed and her shoulders were hunched with pain. Then she opened her eyes and raised her head. “Only we know the debt that we owe to these cats. It is up to each of us to make sure that their deaths were not in vain.” She looked down at Firestar and reached out with her front paw to touch his cheek. “Sleep well, my father,” she whispered.

  Purdy stepped forward. “Don’t dig the holes too close together,” he rasped. “They must be at least one fox-length deep. For safety, like,” he added, shuffling his paws. “Oh, an’ if the hole starts fillin’ with water, leave it an’ dig another further up the slope.”

  “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us, Purdy,” Squirrelflight meowed. “Is there anything else?”

  The old tabby cat twitched his ears. “Well, Mousefur used to like watchin’ the sun go down over the lake. She said it looked like the water was on fire.” His voice trailed off and he swallowed. “So I was goin’ to bury her where she’d still get a good view. P’raps over there.” He nodded toward a grassy mound with a clear line of sight to the lake. “I know she’s not really here, but it feels like the right place for her.”

  Sandstorm moved beside him and ran her tail over his bony spine. “It’s a lovely idea, Purdy. Of course we can do that.”

  Dovewing blinked away the moisture that was gathering in her eyes. “Come on,” she mewed to Ivypool. “Let’s find a place for Hollyleaf.”

  The cats began to move quietly through the trees, choosing soft but well-drained spots for each hole. Poppyfrost stopped beside a young holly bush growing beside the mound that Purdy had selected for Mousefur. “What about here?” she called over her shoulder.

  Cloudtail walked over and prodded the soil with his paw. “Yes, this should be okay.” He started to scrape away the leaf mulch, pushing it further under the tree. Dovewing and Ivypool went over to join him and began to scoop up the earth. On top of the mound, she heard Bumblestripe, Cinderheart, and Lionblaze marking a space for Mousefur.

  “Make it a bit longer,” Purdy ordered. “Give ’er room to stretch out.”

  Silence fell among the trees, apart from the sounds of digging and an occasional grunt of effort. Dovewing’s fur felt hot and prickly but she kept going, even though damp earth was wedged uncomfortably beneath her claws and her eyes stung from bits of dirt that flicked up from Ivypool’s paws. Poppyfrost and Cloudtail worked at the other end of the hole, cramped against the holly bush but uncomplaining even when sharp-pointed leaves pricked their skin.

  “Ow!” There was an exclamation followed by a muffled curse from somewhere above Dovewing’s head. She looked up and saw Lionblaze holding up his front paw. Blood dripped from a broken claw.

  Cinderheart bounded over to him. “What happened?”

  Lionblaze shook his paws, scattering scarlet drops onto the moss. “I caught it on a root,” he meowed. “I’m okay.”

  Cinderheart tipped her head on one side. “Are you sure?” Her voice was heavy with meaning, and Dovewing understood. Lionblaze wasn’t supposed to get hurt like other cats. It was the power that made him invincible in battle. If the Dark Forest cats couldn’t injure him, why should a harmless tree root?

  Lionblaze turned back to the hole. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he growled, his voice muffled by flying earth.

  Dovewing started digging again. It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. Lionblaze is exhausted from the battle. He can’t protect himself like he usually does. The buzzing in her ears drowned out the sound of her paws scrabbling in the dirt until Dovewing could hear nothing except her own breathing.

  At last the five cats had been laid in their earthy nests and covered over. Purdy checked each one carefully to make sure that no scent clung to the top layer of leaves. “We don’t want to attract anything that might be hungry,” he explained. Dovewing felt a rush of affection for the old cat. At this moment, no one would ever think he wasn’t Clanborn, and had never been a warrior.

  The cats trailed back to the hollow and sank down in the clearing, too exhausted to fetch anything from the fresh-kill pile. It was well-stocked with two sparrows and a squirrel; Dovewing guessed that Birchfall and the others had gone hunting. A gesture of reconciliation, she wondered? But she noticed that none of the cats who had been involved in the burials made any effort to thank their Clanmates, or even speak to them. Dovewing winced as Dustpelt walked straight past Birchfall without looking at him. He’s your son! she wanted to yowl. He’s not your enemy!

  Night was falling and cats were just starting to stir in search of their temporary nests when the sound of paw steps came from the entrance to the hollow and Bramblestar leaped over the flattened brambles. Jayfeather followed more cautiously, picking his way through the tendrils.

  Dovewing stared at the new ThunderClan leader. His dark brown coat looked glossier than before, as if lit by starshine, and his amber eyes glowed. Was that because he had been given nine lives? Dovewing strained to hear the whispers of StarClan warriors around him, but there was nothing but the sound of her Clanmates moving tiredly through the camp. She scolded herself for being fanciful.

  Squirrelflight limped over to meet Bramblestar in the center of the hollow. “Welcome back,” she purred, dipping her head. She seemed to be in awe of him too.

  Bramblestar looked around and narrowed his eyes when he saw Birchfall, Thornclaw, Mousewhisker, and Blossomfall sitting at the edge of the clearing, a little distance off from the other cats. “What’s going on?” he mewed. “Haven’t you all been burying the others today?”

  Squirrelflight moved closer to Bramblestar. She spoke close to his ear, the flicking of her tail-tip betraying her discomfort. Dovewing leaned toward them, straining to hear what the deputy was saying.

  “I don’t think that’s a conversation for your ears,” meowed a voice behind her.

  Dovewing jumped and looked around to see her mother watching her with concern in her pale blue eyes. “You . . . you said you can hear things,” Whitewing went on. “Even when you’re not close enough to listen like other cats.”

  Dovewing nodded. To her surprise, Whitewing sighed and stroked Dovewing’s shoulder with her tail. “That must feel very strange,” she murmured. “Do you ever get any peace? I wish you had told me sooner. I might have been able to help.”

  “It was part of a prophecy,” Dovewing mewed, feeling very uncomfortable. “I was given this power to help the Clans against the Dark Forest. It’s okay, I promise.”

  Her mother straightened up, still looking troubled. “If you ever want to talk to me about it, I’m always here.” She nodded toward Bramblestar and Squirrelflight. “And I still think that even if you can hear something, it doesn’t mean that you should.”

  Dovewing glanced down at her paws. “It’s okay,” she mewed. “I can’t make out what they’re saying anyway. My ears haven’t stopped buzzing from the battle yet, and my head hurts.”

  “Why don’t you go and see if Jayfeather can give you something for that?” Whitewing prompted. “All the injuries have been treated now. There’s no need for you to be in pain.”

  Dovewing padded to the entrance to the medicine den and peered through the screen of brambles. “Jayfeather? May I come in?”

  The medicine cat’s head appeared through the fronds. His fur stood on end and his face was taut with tension. “Is it urgent?” he snapped. “Leafpool’s asleep and I’m in the middle of changing Foxleap’s dressings.”

  “How is he?” Dovewing asked, her belly tightening.

  Jayfeather looked over his shoulder at the warrior, who was a faint hunched shape inside the den. Briarlight was propped on her forelegs beside him, licking his ears. “Not good,” Jayfeather replied. “Now, what do you want?”

  “It’s okay, it can wait,” Dovewing meowed. She started to back away. “I’ll come back tomorrow if I need to.”

  Jayfeather vanished back into the den, leaving Dovewing staring at the quivering brambles. She was used to Jayfeather’s short temper and brisk manner, but this was differ
ent. He seemed . . . frightened. But what could be more terrifying than the attack from the Dark Forest? The battle had been won. Surely there was nothing left to be scared of?

  CHAPTER 3

  “Ouch! Mind my eyes!”

  “Sorry!” Dovewing dropped her end of the bramble and backed off to let Bumblestripe scramble clear. They were working on the collapsed wall of the warriors’ den. Dustpelt was supposed to be supervising but he had vanished; Dovewing guessed he was visiting Ferncloud’s burial place. It had only been two sunrises since they buried the cats who fell in the battle, and neither Dustpelt nor Brackenfur seemed willing to leave their mates alone in their cold earthen nests. None of their Clanmates had challenged them on it; there was nothing but compassion for their unspeakable grief.

  The cats who had fought briefly on the side of the Dark Forest, however, were still being treated as if they had greencough. They had taken to sleeping separately in a space behind the elders’ den. Last night Ivypool had joined them, and Dovewing wondered if her sister felt guilty because she seemed to be treated more favorably by the cats who had seen her take on Hawkfrost. Dovewing’s pelt pricked at the injustice of the situation, and she waited for Bramblestar to say something but he was busy with Squirrelflight, organizing patrols to hunt for food and repair the dens.

  Bumblestripe nudged Dovewing. “It’s all right, I think I escaped with my sight,” he joked. “Come on, help me untangle this ivy.” They started to unravel the knot of dark green leaves. All the cats were trying to salvage as much of the dens as they could to save having to find fresh leafy branches so late in the season.

  Suddenly Cinderheart, who was working on the other side of the wall, let out a soft mew. “Blackstar’s here!”

  Dovewing peered around the den and saw the ShadowClan leader hobble into the clearing with his deputy Rowanclaw close beside him—so close, in fact, that their shoulders were touching, as if Rowanclaw was holding his leader upright.