Veil Of Shadows

“Not every cat with the Sisters’ blood can see every ghost,” Spiresight responded. “And I think it’s time for you to go back to your body.”

Shadowsight nodded, but almost at once he was distracted by his father’s voice. “I’m sure Shadowsight is dead,” Tigerstar began. “If he were alive, he would never have left ShadowClan. If he were able, he would have come home.”

“Maybe not,” Dovewing responded. “Remember, we once left the Clans without telling any cat—StarClan, how I regret that now!”

Tigerstar nodded, but there was no hope or belief in his eyes as he gazed at Dovewing. The anger and grief in his father’s voice alarmed Shadowsight even more, and he surged forward once again through the crowd of cats.

“Tigerstar, I’m here!” he yowled. “I’m not dead!”

But just as before, Tigerstar stared straight through Shadowsight; he couldn’t hear or see him. Shadowsight felt as helpless as a raindrop falling from the sky to be lost in a rushing stream.

As his distress overwhelmed him, Shadowsight’s vision blurred. Sickness rose in his belly, and he felt every joint in his body giving way. He was conscious of Spiresight pressing against his side.

“You need to get back to your body right now!” the spirit cat meowed.

In the next breath, Shadowsight found himself back in the ravine. His legs wouldn’t hold him up; he slumped down on the rock, staring at his own unconscious body. A terrible certainty grew in his mind that it was breathing more slowly.

How long do I have left?

Chapter 8

The sun was going down; scarlet light washed over the SkyClan camp, reaching even into the medicine cats’ den. Rootpaw narrowed his eyes against the glare as he dabbed at Macgyver’s tick with a ball of moss soaked in mouse bile. Macgyver kept shifting around, so Rootpaw found it hard to maneuver the moss ball into the right place.

“For StarClan’s sake, keep still!” he hissed around the twig clamped in his jaws.

“That tick is really dug in,” Fidgetflake commented cheerfully. “They can be tricky sometimes. Keep at it, Rootpaw—you’ll get there in the end.”

Rootpaw could barely keep from gagging at the stench and taste of the mouse bile. This isn’t fair, he thought. I had to do ticks when I was a warrior apprentice, and I still have to do them now. And I hate every last one of them!

He dabbed again, and to his relief the tick finally dropped off. Rootpaw let go of the twig with the soaked moss ball, gasping for a breath of fresh air.

“Thanks, Rootpaw,” Macgyver meowed, flexing his shoulders. “That feels much better.” With a nod to Fidgetflake, he padded out into the camp.

Rootpaw barely had time to clean up his paws before he heard his name being called from the entrance to the den. He turned to see his father, Tree.

“Fidgetflake, can I borrow Rootpaw for a bit?” Tree meowed. “I need to talk to him.”

With Fidgetflake’s permission, Rootpaw followed his father outside. He was glad to get out of his den, even for a short time. It stank of mouse bile and would for some time.

“Has anything changed?” Tree asked, halting a couple of tail-lengths from the den. “Have you seen the real Bramblestar again, or had any kind of sign that he’s still around?”

Rootpaw shook his head worriedly. “Not a whisker,” he replied.

“Last night’s meeting is still bothering me,” Tree meowed. “There was so much debate about what to do with the impostor, but if we can’t reach the real Bramblestar’s spirit, it doesn’t leave us with much choice. I’d have expected that if you haven’t seen him, he would be near Squirrelflight,” he added, for once sounding deeply serious.

“I thought the same thing,” Rootpaw responded. “But yesterday, before the meeting, I talked to Squirrelflight and there was no sign of Bramblestar anywhere near her.”

Tree twitched his whiskers thoughtfully. “Is it possible that Bramblestar has faded?” he murmured, half to himself. “We have no idea how it would affect a cat, to be out of his body for so long.”

Rootpaw couldn’t answer that question. “I wish there were something we could do,” he meowed.

“There may be.” Tree’s voice was hopeful again. “I’ve talked to Leafstar about an idea I had of a way to contact Bramblestar. She wasn’t sure at first, but when I told her that the impostor might have tried to kill Sparkpelt, she agreed to give it a try. She said if she could see Bramblestar’s ghost for herself, she might change her mind about going along with the false Bramblestar.”

“What’s the idea?” Rootpaw asked eagerly.

“Perform a summoning ritual. You know the group of cats I was born into, the Sisters? They used to call to their dead this way. Maybe if we do the ritual, we will be able to reach Bramblestar’s spirit—if it’s anywhere near the Clans. It would be a huge help if you would join in, Rootpaw.”