Lost Stars

Shadowpaw stumbled with exhaustion as he made his way down the spiral path to the hollow where the Moonpool lay. The journey from ShadowClan territory seemed to have taken twice as long as usual, and he guessed that dawn couldn’t be far away.

Fresh snow had fallen on the frozen pool since Shadowpaw’s earlier visit; he brushed it away with one forepaw, enough to clear a space of ice where he could lean forward and touch his nose to the surface. He still had no idea why he had been called here.

Is StarClan trying to reach me? Then why don’t they appear?

Straightening up again, he looked around, but nothing disturbed the frosty silence of the night. Convulsive shivers shook him; his head felt oddly full and heavy, and a feeling of dread ran through his whole body. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired and cold.

Maybe it was a mistake to come here, he told himself wretchedly. But I was so sure.

Overhead, another rumble of thunder interrupted his thoughts. Shadowpaw flinched, looking up, but all he could see was the whirling snow.

Who was I kidding? I’ll never be a normal medicine cat. All I get are weird seizure visions that make everybody uncomfortable. I’m not sure I can make it back to camp, alone, in this weather. I must have had bees in my brain to come here.

While he still gazed upward, white light flashed out from the clouds, blazing down on the surface of the Moonpool; it was so brilliant that for a few heartbeats Shadowpaw was blinded. When his vision cleared, he glanced around to see faint flares of light in the night sky as lightning crackled in the distance. Thunder rolled again, the noise building and building until it seemed as if the whole world would split apart.

Shadowpaw crouched, terrified, under the onslaught. “But what does it all mean?” he yowled.

The only answer was another flash of lightning, brighter and closer than before. Everything went black, and with a last whimper of terror, he sank into its softness and knew nothing more.

Pain throbbed in Shadowpaw’s head as he regained consciousness, and he felt as though every muscle in his body, every hair on his pelt, was aching. His vision swam as he struggled to sit up.

Was I struck by lightning? he wondered dazedly.

He could hardly believe it, and yet all around him the snow was melted, showing blackened earth. There were spiky patches on his pelt, prickling his pad when he touched one of them.

As he gradually recovered, Shadowpaw became aware of a voice inside his head. There was no sign of where it was coming from, no star-furred cats approaching him or waiting for him in a sunny clearing. Only the voice, which he realized had been speaking for some time, always repeating the same words.

There is a darkness in the Clans that must be driven out.

Shadowpaw’s pain and exhaustion were swallowed up in panic. Scrambling away from the Moonpool, he tottered up the path to the line of bushes that guarded the hollow. He skidded down the rocky slope on the far side, half jumping and half falling, as if he could outrun the ominous voice.

But there was no escape. The voice went on repeating the same words, over and over. There is a darkness in the Clans that must be driven out. A darkness in the Clans . . .

Chapter 8

The ground under the holly bush was almost free from snow, but Rootpaw still felt wet and miserable as he huddled underneath the branches beside Dewspring. His mentor was testing him by making him recite the warrior code, but Rootpaw was finding it hard to remember.

I can’t think of anything but how cold and hungry I am!

Even so, Rootpaw had to admit that SkyClan was lucky to have its camp in this sheltered valley. He had seen for himself, when he was recovering in their camp, how much harder life was for the cats of ThunderClan.

“And what does the code tell you to do when you catch prey?” Dewspring asked.

His words made Rootpaw think of sinking his teeth into a nice juicy mouse. His jaws watered. “Eat it,” he replied.

Dewspring sighed. “We give thanks to StarClan for its life,” he mewed. “And then we carry our prey to the fresh-kill pile. The Clan must be fed first.” His tail-tip twitched in irritation. “Rootpaw, even a kit knows that! You have to concentrate.”

“I do know it,” Rootpaw grumbled, annoyed with himself. “But it’s hard to concentrate when my belly thinks my throat’s torn out.”