Night Whispers

As the mist swirled around him, mews and growls began to rise from the shadows; young voices chirped with questions and called for approval while older mews snarled in reply, urging them on, pushing them ever harder. It was the noise of training sessions from any Clan by the lake—except this wasn’t the lake, it was the Place of No Stars. Jayfeather glimpsed sleek, oily pelts wrestling in the shadows and smelled RiverClan. Beyond a line of gray ferns, lither shapes reared and swiped at each other.

WindClan, too?

“Unsheathe your claws!”

“Fight like a warrior, not a kit!”

The scents of decay swamped Jayfeather’s tongue.

Then Breezepelt’s mew rose from the shadows. “I wish I’d fought in the battle today.” The WindClan warrior sounded tense with frustration. “I’d have fought on your side if I’d been given the chance.”

Who is he talking to?

Jayfeather tasted the air, reaching through the foul tastes of the Dark Forest and shuddering as he recognized a ShadowClan scent. Breezepelt was swearing allegiance to a ShadowClan cat!

Another shape moved between the trees. Jayfeather spotted the long dark spine moving through the mist like a snake. Yellowfang had given this cat a name on his last visit to the Dark Forest—a name she had spat from her tongue like poison.

Brokenstar.

“Don’t worry, Breezepelt,” the black-furred warrior growled. “There’ll be many more chances to fight. We’ll destroy the warrior code. Once it’s gone, there’ll be no limit to what we can achieve.”

Breezepelt growled excitedly as Brokenstar went on. “With no mouse-hearted rules telling us what to do, we can rebuild the Clans stronger than ever.”

Jayfeather shivered against the dread hollowing his belly. Clan cats, cats who lived beside the lake during their waking moments, surrounded him. He could feel their warm hearts beating, quickened by the lies of the dead. There was no hiding now from what was happening: Cats from every Clan were being trained by Dark Forest warriors to rise against their Clanmates, trained to break every part of the code the Clans had long fought to protect.

Chapter 3

“Mouse dung!” Lionblaze grumbled under his breath as Birchfall, snoring, flopped his legs onto Lionblaze’s belly for the third time.

I wish I could sleep! Lionblaze heaved Birchfall away roughly. He got to his paws.

“Ouch!” A sharp twig jabbed Lionblaze between the ears. The roof was low and as prickly as a hedgehog, bristling with twigs that still needed to be trimmed. The whole den needed trimming.

Lionblaze wrinkled his nose. The air was rank with the stench of combat-weary warriors. Unease tightened his belly as he thought about the battle. Russetfur shouldn’t have died. The skirmish over the Twoleg clearing should have played out till the strongest Clan had claimed the territory. Death had no part in a fight over boundaries.

Lionblaze brushed past Millie, tucked into a ball beside the entrance, and pushed his way out of the den, cold air nipping his nose. He blinked, relishing the chill, pulling free of the trailing branches that dragged at his pelt. The clearing glittered in bright moonlight. Frost silvered the cliffs that circled the camp, and the ground felt like stone. Lionblaze’s warm pads stung for a few paw steps, then grew numb with the cold.

He paused and listened. In the medicine den, Jayfeather soothed Briarlight as she coughed. Molekit was purring in the nursery, probably warming himself with Poppyfrost’s milk. The battle seemed like another world away.

A faint crack sounded from the top of the hollow. Lionblaze jerked his gaze upward and saw a piece of grit catch the moonlight as it fell. It landed with a tiny snick on the frozen clearing.

Something’s up there.

Lionblaze headed for the barrier. Jayfeather had warned that the Dark Forest was rising against them; no sign could be ignored.

“Lionblaze?” Cinderheart squeezed from the den entrance behind him. “Are you okay?”

Lionblaze glanced over his shoulder. Cinderheart’s gray tabby pelt was still ruffled from her nest. “Did you hear something out there?”

The thorns rustled, and Hazeltail slid into the hollow. “What’s up?” Firestar had assigned her to guard the entrance with Graystripe. The ThunderClan leader always doubled the guard after battles.

“Have you seen or heard anything tonight?” Lionblaze glanced back up to the top of the hollow.

Hazeltail followed his gaze. “No.”

“Has Graystripe?”

“Did someone say my name?” The gray warrior peered in through the barrier. His fur was fluffed up against the cold.

“Has anything happened while you’ve been on watch?” Lionblaze pressed.

“Nothing.”

Hazeltail stretched, stifling a yawn. “It’s been silent as the stars all evening,” she agreed. “Why? Are you expecting something?”

The fallen speck of grit glinted on the frosty ground.

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