Mistystar's Omen Read online

  Beside her, Mothwing shifted her paws. “We should keep going,” she meowed. Mistyfoot was surprised that she didn’t seem more excited about the nine lives ceremony. Was visiting the Moonpool and sharing tongues with StarClan just a matter of routine for medicine cats?

  Their pace slowed as they began the long, steep scramble over the rocks. Mistyfoot had only traveled this way once before, and she had forgotten how hard it was—or perhaps her legs had just grown older.

  “Is it much farther?” she panted after losing her grip on one boulder and almost falling off backward.

  “No,” Mothwing replied over her shoulder. “See those bushes up there? The path that leads down to the Moonpool is just behind them.”

  Mistyfoot’s head was spinning by the time they pushed their way through the thorny branches and started to follow the spiraling path downward. Her paws slotted into the imprints left by generations of cats before, and for a moment she felt their pelts brush past her, bathing her in musky scent. Welcome, welcome. Did she hear their voices, too, or was it just her imagination?

  Mothwing led her to the edge of the pool. It gleamed under the pale sunlight, reflecting the clouds and the swift flight of a bird across its surface. Mistyfoot’s heart started to beat faster. This was it! She was actually going to be the leader of RiverClan! She glanced at Mothwing and was surprised to see that the medicine cat looked nervous too. The tip of her fluffy tail was twitching, and she seemed reluctant to meet Mistyfoot’s gaze. Perhaps she was feeling anxious about the unfamiliar ceremony after all.

  “You’ll be fine,” Mistyfoot reassured her old friend. “It’s the first time for both of us, but we’ll get through it together.”

  Mothwing just blinked. “Lie down at the edge of the pool,” she instructed, “and let your muzzle touch the water.”

  Mistyfoot settled down with her paws tucked under her. The stone was cold beneath her belly, but the water was colder still, sparkling like ice against her nose. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Good luck,” she heard Mothwing say softly, as though she were very far away.

  There was a rush of stars around her, and then a dizzying blackness swallowed her up. Mistyfoot fought the urge to cry out. Am I falling? There were whispers and cries in her ears, but none of them clear enough to hear, and the scents of many cats, some half-recognized, some strange and sharp. Just as Mistyfoot was about to shriek in terror, she felt firm sand underneath her paws. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was standing on a gently sloping shore beside a broad, shallow river that splashed over pebbles and carried the scent of fish. Above, the sky was bright and the sun blazed down, warming her fur. Mistyfoot felt an urge to wade into the water and let fish swim onto her claws; somehow she knew there would be no difficulty in catching a haul of prey.

  The bushes behind her rustled, and a pale gray cat appeared. For a moment Mistyfoot thought it was her brother, Stonefur, but then she recognized the scent and knew it was Graypool, the RiverClan she-cat she had called mother for so long. Mistyfoot purred loudly, and in two strides Graypool was beside her, licking her fur and nuzzling her head with her chin. Mistyfoot buried her nose in Graypool’s feather-soft chest, suddenly feeling like a kit again.

  “I’m so worried I’ll make a mistake in the ceremony,” she confessed.

  “Hush, little one,” Graypool soothed her. “You’ll be fine. There’s nothing to get wrong; I promise. Are you ready?”

  Mistyfoot straightened up and nodded. She was startled to realize that the shore was crowded with cats now, their fur lit by stars and their eyes shining with warmth. She wondered for a fleeting moment where Mothwing was, but then Graypool stepped forward and lifted her voice above the splashing of the river.

  “My precious Mistyfoot, beloved nearly-daughter, I give you a life for loving your Clanmates as if each cat were your kit, borne of your body and your pain.” She rested her muzzle against Mistyfoot’s, and a bolt like lightning shot through Mistyfoot’s pelt. She squeaked and leaped back in pain, but Graypool’s eyes glowed at her, giving her strength, and Mistyfoot dug her claws into the sand to hold her ground. The fire beneath her skin passed and she gasped for breath.

  “Thank you, Graypool,” she whispered. The she-cat nodded and stepped back.

  Then a familiar shape loomed over Mistyfoot, and she basked in her brother’s scent. “I told you we would meet again,” Stonefur purred. “I give you a life for treating all cats equally, for fighting against injustice and unfairness wherever it comes.”

  Mistyfoot braced herself, but the shock from this life was less severe, feeling instead like a wave of strength building inside her, swelling from nose to tail-tip until she felt as if she could leap over mountains.

  The next cat was a slender, soft-furred gray tabby with eyes that reflected the blue of the sky. “Feathertail!” Mistyfoot cried. “I have missed you!”

  Feathertail’s gaze softened. “I have missed you too, Mistyfoot. I haven’t forgotten the lessons I learned as your apprentice. The life I give you is for accepting your destiny, however hard that may seem. Some things are beyond our control; that doesn’t mean they should be fought against.”

  This life was uncomfortable, prickling like thorns and choking her like a fishbone caught in her throat. Mistyfoot struggled to keep still and not spit out the invisible bone. Perhaps this was a warning of how difficult her destiny was going to be? Mistyfoot felt a tremor of unease.

  “Welcome, Mistyfoot,” purred a deep voice. She opened her eyes to see Crookedstar, leader of RiverClan before Leopardstar, looking down at her. Mistyfoot bowed her head. “You don’t have to do that now,” Crookedstar reminded her. “We are equals here. I give you a life with the wisdom and strength to carry the burden of leadership. It will weigh heavy, but remember that every problem is nothing more than a challenge to be overcome.”

  Mistyfoot’s legs buckled as she felt a huge, invisible pressure crushing her. She forced herself to stand straight, and felt the pressure transform into a soft, powerful warmth. I am strong enough to carry this burden, she told herself.

  The next life came from the broad-shouldered brown tabby Oakheart, who had been Crookedstar’s brother and deputy. But Mistyfoot knew him now as something else: her father. “My beautiful daughter,” he murmured, resting his muzzle against her ears. “I am so sorry I could not be a true father to you. Live well, believe in yourself, and we will walk in StarClan together one day. I give you a life with the courage to follow your heart,” he purred, and Mistyfoot braced herself against the jolt of feeling that seared through her. She felt a flash of sorrow as her father stepped away from her, but almost at once another cat was close beside her, breathing warmly into her ear.

  “Oh, my daughter,” Bluestar whispered. “If only you knew how much I missed you.”

  Mistyfoot lifted her head and studied the dark gray she-cat. Bluestar looked young and lithe and strong, very different from the soaked and battered cat she and her brother had dragged from the river.

  Bluestar let her tail-tip rest on Mistyfoot’s flank. “The life I give you is for doing what is right, however hard that might be.” The regret in her voice almost broke Mistyfoot’s heart. She forced out a purr, in spite of the fire that was scorching through her blood.

  “I know you only ever tried to do the right thing,” she rasped.

  Bluestar leaned forward until her muzzle was touching the tip of Mistyfoot’s ear. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  A beautiful she-cat with delicate silver markings came forward. Mistyfoot tipped her head on one side. “Silverstream? Is that you?”

  The she-cat purred. “Well met, Mistyfoot. I am so proud of what you have become. I give you a life for finding happiness, even in the most unlooked-for places. Whatever happens, never forget how to be joyful.” When she touched Mistyfoot’s nose, a bright silver light flashed, making Mistyfoot blink. Her fur tingled and she felt the hair stand up along her spine.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

 
; A dark gray tabby took Silverstream’s place. Mistyfoot’s heart ached as she gazed at him. “Oh, Rippletail. I’m so sorry you didn’t return. You saved the lake, you know? The water came back!” If not the fish, she added silently, though she wasn’t going to tell her former Clanmate that.

  Rippletail dipped his head. “I only ever wanted to help my Clan,” he meowed. “My life was worth that. The life I give you is for curiosity, for the courage to find out what lies beyond the horizon. Never turn down a chance to learn something more.”

  “I won’t; I promise,” Mistyfoot whispered as the heat burned through her once more. She was beginning to feel dizzy and weak, and her vision was blurred.

  At first she thought no cat had come up after Rippletail. There was an empty space in front of her. She had one more life to come, didn’t she? Then there was a tiny squeak below her, and Mistyfoot looked down at a small black kit with piercing green eyes.

  “Perchkit! My baby!”

  The tiny cat bounced on his paws. “I knew I’d see you again,” he chirped. “They said I could give you a life, too. So mine is for bravery, even when you are walking into shadows. There will always be light, even in the darkest night.”

  He stretched up to press his nose against Mistyfoot’s chin. She inhaled his precious kit scent and drank in the energy that flowed from him. I never forgot you, not for a single moment.

  “Mistystar! Mistystar!”

  The cats on the shore raised their voices, sending her new name echoing up to the sky. Two more cats pushed through the throng and wound around Mistystar’s legs. “Pikepaw! Primrosepaw!” She felt a rush of love for her kits who hadn’t lived long enough to become the warriors they should have been.

  “We will be waiting for you,” Pikepaw promised earnestly.

  “We are so proud of you!” Primrosepaw added, pressing her cheek against Mistystar’s shoulder.

  Mistystar opened her mouth to tell her kits how much she missed them, but the light was turning gray and misty, and the shore vanished to be replaced by curved cliffs of stone. Mistystar was lying beside the Moonpool once more, her ears ringing and her fur still ruffled from the agony of the nine lives.

  Mothwing padded up to her. “Are you all right?”

  Mistystar blinked. She pictured the cats by the shore again, and knew there had been one missing. “You weren’t there!”

  Mothwing winced, then relaxed as if a weight had been lifted off her. “No.” She held Mistystar’s gaze without flinching. “You will always visit StarClan alone. They don’t exist for me in the way that they do for you.”

  Mistystar stared at her friend in dismay. What was Mothwing saying? She was a medicine cat! How could this be true? She fought to speak, even though the ground was lurching under her feet.

  “You . . . you don’t believe in StarClan?”

  Chapter 4

  “But you’ve been our medicine cat for so long! Have you never walked with StarClan in your dreams?”

  Mothwing shook her head. “You have your beliefs,” she meowed calmly. “I have mine. The cats you see in your dreams guide and protect you in ways that I have lived without. I am skilled at healing and caring for my Clanmates, and that has been enough to serve my Clan.”

  Mistystar’s mind was whirling. Surely this couldn’t be happening! How could a medicine cat not believe in StarClan? Why had none of the cats said anything to her during the nine lives ceremony? They must know that Mothwing never walked with them. What about omens? Did StarClan bother to send any if Mothwing would never be watching for them? She took a step forward, suddenly desperate to get back to the lake, to find a footing for her paws on ground that seemed to have shifted.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  As Mothwing followed her up the paw-printed path, Mistystar thought she heard the medicine cat murmur, “I’m sorry.” But there was nothing she could think of to say in reply.

  They traveled quickly and in silence, leaping and scrambling down the tumbled rocks until they were standing on the short, springy grass of WindClan’s territory once more. Scents from ThunderClan drifted to them across the narrow stream that marked the boundary between the two Clans. “Let’s stop and tell Firestar what has happened,” Mistystar suggested. The other leaders would have to learn about Leopardstar’s death sometime.

  Mothwing nodded. They jumped over the stream and trotted down the other side until they reached a clear path that led into the trees. Fresh ThunderClan scent hung in the air; they had clearly just missed a patrol. Mistystar took the lead along the trail, reminding herself that she was a Clan leader now, and had every right to visit her neighbors with this important news without being accused of trespassing. But it still felt strange to be walking in another Clan’s territory without constantly looking over her shoulder, wary of ambush.

  They reached the gap in the walls of the hollow and forced their way in through the thorns. Mistystar shook her head to dislodge the prickles that had caught in her nose. She didn’t know how the ThunderClan cats put up with such an uncomfortable entrance to their home. Firestar was crossing the clearing to meet them.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Mistystar stood still and waited for him to reach her. “Leopardstar’s dead,” she announced.

  Firestar lowered his head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “We’ve just come from the Moonpool,” Mothwing explained. “Mistystar has received her nine lives.”

  Firestar dipped his muzzle even lower. “Mistystar,” he mewed respectfully.

  “Mistystar,” echoed Graystripe, a sturdy tom who Mistystar had known since he was an apprentice back in the forest.

  “Mistystar, Mistystar,” called the other ThunderClan cats.

  Mistystar felt a bit uncomfortable. She had never liked being the center of attention, and it seemed all the more strange because she was still getting used to her new name. “Thank you,” she mewed when the cats were silent. “I have chosen Reedwhisker as my deputy. We look forward to a long and fair relationship with ThunderClan.”

  Firestar raised his head and lightly touched her muzzle. “How’s RiverClan?” His tone was lighter, more relaxed; now that the formal greeting was over, he sounded more like the cat Mistystar had known—and confided in—for so long.

  She told him about the loss of three elders, and that the drought had hit the whole Clan hard. Firestar was sympathetic, and Jayfeather offered Mothwing some herbs to replenish her stocks, including watermint. Laden with green-scented leaves, the RiverClan cats retraced their steps through the trees. When they broke out into the open and reached the stream again, Mistystar put down her mouthful of herbs.

  “Does Jayfeather know that you don’t believe in StarClan?” she mewed.

  Mothwing nodded.

  “What does he think?”

  Mothwing carefully placed her herbs on a tussock of grass. “He knows that I am a good medicine cat and will do anything to help my Clan.”

  Mistystar stared at her Clanmate in frustration. How could she be so calm and accepting? She longed to ask Mothwing about omens and dreams and ceremonies—all the responsibilities of a medicine cat that involved trusting in the unseen presence of their warrior ancestors. But standing in ThunderClan territory, still a long way from home, wasn’t the right place for that conversation. The questions would have to wait. Mistystar picked up her herbs and leaped over the stream.

  Mothwing followed, and they picked their way down to the edge of the lake to walk along the shore, which lay outside WindClan territory. As they neared the border with RiverClan, a WindClan patrol spotted them and raced up, bristling, but their fur flattened when Mistystar told them about Leopardstar’s death, and the warriors offered sympathy and congratulations to Mistystar on receiving her nine lives. They promised to tell Onestar as soon as they returned to their camp.

  Mistystar realized that she should let Blackstar of ShadowClan know as well, but by the time she reached the RiverClan camp her paws were too weary to walk a
nother step. She wanted to be at full strength when she first met Blackstar as his equal, another Clan leader with the power to challenge him if one of his warriors so much as placed a whisker over their shared border. There was too much history between Mistystar and the ShadowClan leader—the memory of him killing Stonefur was too sharp—for her ever to contemplate an alliance with his Clan.

  Reedwhisker met her as she limped toward her den. “Did you meet with our ancestors? Do you have your nine lives?”

  Mistystar nodded. “Yes, I do.” She forced herself to lift her head higher. “With StarClan’s blessing, I will lead this Clan until the last breath of my last life.”

  “Hurrah! Mistystar!” Her Clanmates cheered, but Mistystar noticed Mothwing standing at the edge of the clearing, her gaze troubled.

  “Mothwing said you’d seen Firestar and a WindClan patrol,” Reedwhisker meowed. “Would you like me to take the news to Blackstar?”

  Mistystar blinked gratefully at her deputy. “Thank you,” she mewed. “Make sure you return before it gets dark.”

  Reedwhisker dipped his head and raced off. Mistystar watched him dive into the bushes on the far side of the clearing. She wondered if his littermates were watching from StarClan. She would have to tell Reedwhisker that one of her lives came from his brother Perchkit.

  “Mistystar?” Dapplenose was standing a little way off. “We’re going to bury Leopardstar now. Would you like to join us?”

  “Of course,” Mistystar meowed. She stretched her legs to ease some of the stiffness. Sleep could come later.