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Ravenshade left Poppyfeather dead next to a bush, deep in the frog thicket. He’d meticulously tossed pine and even scratched himself on the shoulder to make it look like rogues really had attacked him. And he had gotten what he wanted.
Facing her again was less than ideal, but he had managed so far. While the shock of each life left his heart racing and his paws trembling, he was still ready to receive his next life.
Poppyfeather steps forward. Her pelt shines, mudless and clean. The stars reflect from her eyes, which are cold and unwavering.
He stands up straighter. She is dead. What can she do?
“Ravenstar.”
“Poppyfeather,” he says.
“I suppose you’re expecting your eighth life from me,” she says, flicking an ear.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Very well,” she snaps. “I spent my life serving my clan. You have spent your life tearing it down so you could be the cat who ends up on top.”
“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” he dryly says.
“Is that not what you did?” Poppyfeather’s gaze narrows. “I’d love to hear how you would phrase murdering two cats.”
That is what he did, technically. However, he knows she would never understand his reasoning, so he stays silent.
Poppyfeather’s gaze turns into a glare. “With this life, I give you duty. All of your energy, all of your time and all of your lives shall be spent serving your clan.” She prowls forward, and Ravenshade finds himself shrinking away until she looms over him. “Your life is obligated to serving your clan.”
He feels a sudden burst of white pain at his neck, and unwillingly yowls and clamps his jaw. He feels wind running through his fur, the caw of a hawk and belonging protection obligation.
As he shakily opens his eyes, the only evidence of Poppyfeather’s appearance was a drop of glimmering blood.
–
“Ravenstar, if I may speak with you?”
He tilts his head from his conversation with Levi. “Speak.”
Patchback stands straight, tail tucked neatly on her paws. “While on patrol with Marshjump and Pepperswipe on the cliffs, we noticed the ground was unusually soft, possibly due to the recent rainfall.”
“Soft how?” Levi asks.
“The ground felt as though it was crumbling under our feet. I suggest keeping patrols from the area until it’s dry again.”
Ravenstar considers. The path that Patchback’s patrol was going down today was integral for observing the territory, as well as the borders of the other clans.
“Levi, restrict patrols from the area for now. Patchback, lead me to the area and I will assess the damage.”
Patchback blinks. “It’s dangerous, Ravenstar, I’m not sure if–”
“Are you questioning my authority?” He takes a single step towards Patchback, and she immediately backs up, fur prickling.
“No– No, Ravenstar, that’s not what I–”
“Take me to the site,” he orders.
That is more or less the last thing he remembered before he is toppling down with half the cliff and feels a very sharp, sudden pain at the back of his neck.
He blinks his eyes open to view his limp body, head jutted out of place in a way that makes him feel sick.
“How was it?” A voice says. He immediately recognizes it.
“Wouldn’t you know?” He spits. “You’re the dead one.”
He whips his head around to face her, only to see her blankly standing next to the translucent image of his father.
“You’ve lost your first life,” Gyoza blankly says.
“Ah” He waves his paw a little. “You guys restore the wound, right? How long does that take?“
“You broke your neck,” Poppyfeather snaps. “Give it a second.”
Ravenstar bites his tongue, but only because he can see Gyoza scrutinizing him. He can feel his father’s disapproval spreading through him, but he ignores it.
“And son?”
Ravenstar tilts toward Gyoza.
“Don’t be as reckless with all your lives.”
He twitches, feeling irritation seep through him. He wasn’t careless. Despite himself, he nods. “Yes, father.”
Gyoza vanishes, leaving him with Poppyfeather.
“And why are you here?” He snaps, glaring at Poppyfeather.
She simply flicks her tail. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“Then why bother?” He pricks the ground under him with a claw.
“It’s my duty,” Poppyfeather says. “What, you thought anyone else in Starclan would be able to put up with your nonsense?”
He’s about to retort, but his eyes flutter open and she is gone, nothing more than another gust of wind in the air. He sees Patchback rushing down the mountain, and Gyoza’s last be more careful careful careful eats at him.
What did Gyoza know? He’s not the one with eight more lives to spare.
You thought anyone else in Starclan would be able to put up with your nonsense?
–
The battle is fierce. Every slash of claws, every bite and snap and rush he gets from it all eventually falls short.
He stares at his neck, oozing blood. Spottedshade stares at it with fury, but eventually realizes what’s happened and wails. He watches mouths move, but no sound emits from them.
He can hear the sound of both clans running backwards, paws crunching over dead grass.
“This is your second life,” an upbeat voice says.
He turns around to see a white cat with ginger marks.
“I’m not sure you remember me,” she giggles.
“I don’t,” Ravenstar replies. He watches Patchback and Levi scoop his body up and run.
“I’m Sorrelstem,” she says, eyes twinkling. “It’s okay that you forgot me, I didn’t do anything too memorable. I just wish the life I gave you meant something.”
It suddenly comes back to him. Friendship. The life had felt pointless, like a filler.
“Friendship isn’t just within your clan,” Sorrelstem says, voice keeping the same bubbliness, but he doesn’t miss the way her eyes narrow. “It’s from any clan’s smallest kit to the strongest warrior to the most frail elder. Everyone deserves kindness.”
A butterfly flits through Sorrelstem, and she shivers as it passes. “I don’t understand, Ravenstar.”
He sees the body of Tinybird. His pale ghost stares at him, before it treks on towards something he can’t see.
“I don’t understand,” she repeats, eyes glistening with cold sadness that seeps into the air around her. “Why would you allow– why would you encourage this?”
He glances at his paws, suddenly angry. “Well what do you know? I’ve heard stories. You supported a murderer.”
“As if you haven’t murdered my friend,” Sorrelstem snaps, voice growing higher in pitch as she yells. “As if you haven’t coldly killed anyone who stands in your way!”
He stares up. Poppyfeather stands in front of him, regarding him with the same disdainful expression that seems to plague her face whenever he catches a glimpse of her ghostly form.
(For a moment, he thinks about Pondshine. The tall black tom who was Cloudtuft’s mate.)
Disloyal filth.
“I took a mate from outside my clan, once,” Sorrelstem shrugs. He watches her form start to melt, and slowly be dragged along by nonexistent winds. “But we’re all just cats, aren’t we?”
“Why did you do it?” Her choked voice whispers.
Stars, he is cold. He doesn’t think it’s just from the recent death.
Cold, like a freezing lake.
–
Ravenstar looks up from the scent trail just in time to see Bearspring scattering away from him, a large shadow quickly overtaking his vision, then–
THUD
He watches a gaggle of Shallowclan cats run away. Bearspring stands, horrified.
“Oh, my son,” a voice whispers.
It’s familiar, and reminds him of–
“Mom?” He asks.
“My son,” Troutspeckle says. She seemingly chokes, her eyes slammed close.
“… Mom?” He repeats.
“That’s your third life,” she whispers.
Bearspring is shaking with fear. Yet, she stands, still and unmoving, mouth open in a silent plea.
“Your father told you to be careful,” she says. “Please follow his advice, goodness knows my heart can’t take it.”
He’s aware of his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears.
Not his heartbeat, he realizes. His mother’s.
Troutspeckle finally opens her eyes, but they are skillfully pointed away from the spot where blood is seeping from under the boulder. He turns himself to meet her, and all he can see in them is disappointment. He feels it ebb away in his heart with each shaky ba-dump.
“I wish you’d make better choices,” Troutspeckle sighs.
“I will,” he quietly says. “I’m sorry.”
Ba-dump.
His legs shake. His own mother wouldn’t? She would understand. She would understand why.
“No, you aren’t,” Troutspeckle cries. “You aren’t.”
Ba-dump.
Poppyfeather’s shadow looms over him, and he realizes that no matter how many times he says sorry, it won’t be true.
“I had to protect him,” he says. “I had to.”
Ba-dump.
“This isn’t protecting him,” Troutspeckle coldly says. “This just made things worse.”
Ba-dump.
–
Poppyfeather regards him with a cold expression. She looks unamused.
“Shut up,” he grumbles. He watches starry blood ooze from his chest, where a large chunk of it lays next to his still body.
A pale tom steps from the space next to Poppyfeather. Or, the blob that is Poppyfeather. She’s fading stardust at this point. Her form seems less and less stable as she appears in the corner of his vision.
“This is your fourth life,” he says. “Did you truly think you could fight a dog and win?”
“I thought it was one of the tiny yappy twoleg dogs,” Ravenstar spits.
“Patrol shaken, terrified, and you thought it was a Yorkshire?”
Moonskip? Moonstep? Whatever his name is, he’s hardly there. Every little breeze pushes the starry outline of his body this way and that. Small holes of space move themselves through him. He can pretty clearly see the pine tree behind him.
Poppyfeather looks at Moonstep, and they both just roll their eyes.
“I suppose we can send him back?” Moonstep inquires.
Poppyfeather nods. “The wound isn’t fully healed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Starclan’s power is growing thin, Ravenstar,” she dismissively says. “Consider visiting your medicine cats.”
With a harsh brush of wind, they both vanish, and the pain in his shoulder returns.
–
Disloyal filth.
That’s all this clan seems to be anymore, he thinks. Feathersight spits filth at him. It’s so funny, he could laugh.
“And what’s your proof?” There it is. Feathersight’s confidence melts away like the morning frost that coats newleaf grass.
“What?”
“You said you have evidence,” he says, smiling. “Let’s hear it.”
He watches Feathersight stammer, before he finally– “Nightshade berries!”
He freezes. How. He knew no one else was around, he knew—
“Bristleheart examined Cherrystar’s body and determined she’d died of illness, since her symptoms didn’t fit any poisonous plant we knew of–”
It couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
“But thanks to Flamefall, we know exactly what plant you used!”
Flamefall, the fucking traitor, immediately shrinks away the second he looks.
Thanks to Flamefall?
“You believe Flamefall, do you?” He laughs. “That little worm?”
Feathersight looks terrified. Good.
“All you have are words, Feathersight,” he shouts. “Traitorous, slimy words!”
He’d have to make an example of them. Flamefall’s tricks all came from him. Feathersight wouldn’t dare even raising a paw to his own defense. They'd–
(Poppyfeather.
He knows she’s here. He feels her gaze scrutinizing him.
Whatever. This isn’t about Poppyfeather. This is about loyalty, which is apparently scarce now.)
So shameful.
“I’ve served this clan for many moons as your leader,” he begins. “All I’ve asked for in return is your loyalty, yet it seems to be lacking time and time again.”
He allows his claws to unsheathe, grating on the rock he stands upon. “Perhaps, Feathersight, you’d like to demonstrate what happens to the disloyal?”
Don’t.
Feathersight is backing up now. He quickly scans the crowd. Anyone who might try to stop him was towards the middle, and would have a hard time getting to him.
“Ravenstar.”
A new voice. Bold, firm, and strong. It’s the exact voice he tries to emanate when he addresses his clan. He turns, but nothing is there.
“What– what is this,” he stammers, unwillingly. “Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize me, great leader?” She tilts her head. Her paws trickle stardust, nothing like the wispy forms of ghosts he’d seen when he died.
No. No.
“I am a cautionary tale,” she says.
This is a leader.
Maplestar and Goldenstar were huge, from the tales.
“Once upon a time, I was in your place.”
Obviously, this isn’t Cherrystar. So this is—
“I was the leader of Fallenclan, and I was loved,” she continues.
“It can’t be…” he whispers. “Scorchstar?”
This is Poppyfeather’s doing. Only she could summon cats to visit him. Right?
“And then I did something terrible.”
Memories flash into his mind. Leading a golden cat into the thicket. Her fearful bronze eyes, her wails, cut off by the gurgling of blood and her form collapsing. He stares at his paws. They are brown. Blood trickles from them.
“Do you know how I was punished, Ravenstar?”
“I…”
Scorchstar blankly stares at him, and distorts into a mangled disaster. Ear torn clean off, face mangled, legs and tail and chest and back and stomach dissected.
Blood drips from her.
He feels sick.
“I died for my sins,” she says. Her voice rings across the clearing. He hears some small gasps as blood rushes through his ears.
Scorchstar is the same cat again. Only one ring shaped scar on her leg.
She steps forward, meeting his eyes even with her short stature. He shivers. They keep eye contact, then he feels something crawling. It slams into him, and he staggers. He feels claws ripping through him.
Something ghostly pale falls from him. Speckled with stars.
“I hereby revoke one of the lives that Starclan so graciously gave you.”
Her eyes look up, meeting his ghost. He watches her.
“Consider yourself unworthy.”
The life floats, aimlessly flying until it eventually attaches itself to Scorchstar. With a cold whisk, she vanishes.
“You’ve lost your fifth life,” Sweetclover growls. Poppyfeather stands next to her.
He knows it’s Sweetclover, even if she’s so distorted and hazy that the only thing he recognizes is her voice.
“Oh, go to hell,” he growls, then shifts his gaze to glare at Poppyfeather. “This is your fault!”
Sweetclover stares at him with fury he never knew she possessed. “You deserve this. I hope you suffer, Ravenshade.”
He gasps, and he is back in the real world. Pain is searing through him, and he shakily comes to his paws and almost turns to view his clan.
“You… how did you…”
“Oh, Ravenstar.”
No. No no no no.
“Don’t think you’re finished just yet.”
“No.”
“You know me, don’t you?” Goldenstar stares down at him.
“No.” He steps backwards. “Please.”
“Not my face, but my story,” he says. “I was leader for the longest of the five of us.”
Is this how Bearspring felt?
He stumbles, frozen in his panic.
Panic? Fear?
“In my leadership, I promised to protect my clan with my life– with all my lives– from the most ancient elder, to the newest kit.”
Another round of memories, each more brutal and fierce. Harsh claws, scratching him. Three small kittens, bouncing around him and begging for another story—
–Poppyfeather, cowering away from an eagle.
“Don't–”
“I protected Fallenclan in life” Goldenstar says. “I will protect it in death, too.”
He feels it again. The sickening feeling of it all. He feels searing pain in his legs, another, and another, tumbling through him again, and the life falls from his mouth as he gags.
Poppyfeather. She’s my guardian. What is she doing?
“I revoke a life from you,” Goldenstar says, his eyes shifting to Ravenstar’s new position over his own limp body. “Consider it a mercy.”
“Having fun?” A snowy white cat tilts her head, her yellow eyes flitting from Goldenstar back to him.
He stays silent, still feeling aftereffects of the pain.
“Oh don’t worry, you will,” she says. “Be brave, Ravenstar,” Blizzardfang’s mocking voice calls. Then she vanishes, and he is back in the real world.
Poppyfeather steps next to him. “They can’t see me.” She leans down, so her blurred head meets his. “But you can.”
“Do something,” he whispers. “You’re my guardian.”
“I don’t protect you,” Poppyfeather snarls. “I simply take you when it’s time.”
He glares at her. “You…” he starts. “Miserable, LITTLE–”
“Met my father, did you?”
He stops, feeling his heart thundering in his ears. This was–
“You weren’t alive to see me, but you know who I am, don’t you?” Maplestar asks.
He composes himself, straightens (despite the fiery pain), and wills his eyes shut. “Please don’t.”
“I was the leader before Cherrystar,” Maplestar continues. “And the son of one of the greatest cats this clan has ever seen.”
“STOP!”
(Cherrystar had mentioned her predecessor a number of times. He was old when he became leader, but had served his clan all of his life.)
“I had big pawsteps to fill.”
Memories race through him. Playing with siblings, badger rides. He is tiny, and Scorchstar and Nettlestem tower above him. He slowly grows to dwarf them, but never quite gets taller than his father.
“Maybe I didn’t fill them.”
(“He worked hard his whole life,” Cherrystar murmurs. “I’m not sure he ever truly thought he would be leader. I respect him more than anyone else.”)
“I wasn’t leader for very long at all, and perhaps my most memorable act was removing a murderer from my clan.”
There is a crowd below him. They stare as a patrol leads a long furred brown cat away. He catches a glimpse of Sorrelstem in the very back of the crowd, holding a group of kittens back with her tail. He watches Otterslip leave.
“I did it once.”
“No… please.”
“I will happily do it again.”
Something akin to water courses through him. Washing him out from the inside. He’s drowning. He gags, opening his mouth–
–and nothing but the same translucent white star speckled life falls out.
“I revoke a life, Ravenstar.” He automatically parts to allow a ginger blob to step past him. “It’s not fit for a cat like you.”
“Russetflare,” she introduces. “Sorrelstem’s daughter, Juniperfoot’s sister, Sandsnap’s sister in law, Ramstep’s sister in law,” she rattles on, then stops. “You’ve lost your seventh life,” she says. “All you’ve done is bring distrust and fear into this clan. I am happy to see this era end, and we will move forward into a better future. A future without you.”
He raises his paw, claws unsheathed, then he’s back in his body, gagging on water that doesn’t exist.
“My turn?” A familiar voice. Sweet, yet dagger filled. “Good.” Cherrystar steps forward, eyes burning with drive. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Poppyfeather smugly grins. He can’t see, but he’s sure of it.
“You murdered me.”
“No- no I– I didn’t, I’m sorry–”
He doesnt want to die.
“It’s alright,” Cherrystar hums. “It was a long time ago, now, I’m hardly even mad about it.” She shrugs. “I’ve never been one to hold a grudge, anyways.”
Marshjump and Bearspring stare from the crowd. He can almost make out tears trickling from their eyes.
Stars.
“At least, not for myself.” Cherrystar smiles, and what once felt welcoming now feels like a sign to get out.
His legs are still trembling. He looks up to stare at Cherrystar, who is staring down at him.
“Please,” he whispers. “I don’t want to die.”
“Neither did I,” Cherrystar replies. “So when I take this life from you, know this.”
A mother, with kind eyes of sun cast upon a clear lake. Her sister, with a heart of gold. Her friends, Ripplefade and Pebblefreeze. There was a fire. She’s scared.
“My paws perform the action, but it is not on my behalf.”
No. No.
“This is for what you did to Poppyfeather—”
(I left her dead in the bush. I scattered pine and scratched myself to make it real. I led a patrol to her body and sat vigil for her. And she gave me a life and became my guardian to watch me suffer just as she did.)
“To Sandsnap.”
(He thinks of Russetflare, Sandsnap’s sister in law. Did she see Sandsnap, once he made it to the stars? Did she know what he would do when she offered him that life?)
“To Ripplefade, Bearspring, Marshjump.”
(They were just apprentices when Cherrystar died. Ripplefade had been her best friend all her life. He tore their family apart.)
“To my clan!”
A sudden, sharp pain in his stomach. Tears flick to his eyes. He wills himself still, barely managing to stand. The life burns his throat, begging to leave.
He gags, and it splits his mouth open, darting to Cherrystar.
“I hope you rot, Ravenstar,” Cherrystar smiles. “But don’t worry, I’ll look after the clan for you.”
And he’s staring at his dead body, and the silent crowd of cats.
“You’ve lost your eighth live,” Poppyfeather says. “I, for one, am grateful.”
He ignores her, glaring at nothing. They’re still here, he knows it.
“You four..” He wheezes. “You pathetic… disloyal…”
“It’s over, Ravenstar,” Feathersight steadily says.
“Is it?” He coughs, standing on shaky feet. “I still have my final life.” He chuckles, managing, swallowing his own blood back down. “No more ghosts to take it away! You’ll have to do it yourselves.” He scans the front lines, barking a laugh. “Looking at the four of you, ha!”
Darkstone wears a smug expression on his face, next to his mentor. “Two medicine cats–” Honeysong, who has always looked just past him and now looks exhausted. “– a pacifist–” Flamefall, who even now could never meet his eyes. “– And a coward.”
Poppyfeather moves next to him, her form slipping away from him.
“None of you have the guts, let alone the skill, to kill me!” He stares down at them, grinning.
“You’re probably right,” Darkstone says, smiling, tail tucked neatly onto his paws. “But we aren’t the ones who want to kill you.”
Final–
He feels the air behind him shift. A war cry echoes behind him.
Littleleaf. Canarywish. I’m sorry, my family.
He sees a flash of brown. He tries to move, tries to–
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to. I don’t I don’t I can't–
“Ravenstar.”
He stares at his body. Limp. His head rests in front of Wolfbite’s bared claws. Her muzzle is covered in blood. Blood flows from his neck, a bite wound gaping from it.
He turns to view Poppyfeather, who he knows is there.
“It’s time,” Poppyfeather says. “That was your last life.”