Chapter Text
MISTPELT
Defeated LionClan warriors straggled in through the trampled bramble thicket, far fewer than before. Mistpelt felt herself nauseous as she stood trying to pull the kits back to her side with her tail, but there was no stopping Ashkit’s wretched wailing.
Sootfang, Shademist, Ruddsnout, Minkeyes, Graymask… After everyone they’d lost, had they survived, only to die by their own clanmates’ claws? It made her sick, and sicker to be one of the last ones left in camp, after Marigoldpatch had stolen away with Minkeyes toward the battle, despite her shouting.
And she couldn’t chase. There was no one but her and Hollymoon to keep the camp and guard the kits, and Littlekit and Oakkit had needed her.
Leekroot… Whenever she remembered he would never hear his voice again, never feel his warmth, that his scent would fade from his nest and leave nothing but memories… She had no more strength to cry, but to crumble would be easy. Merciful, if she could just do it. Dissolve into ash, blow away on the wind, and let her clanmates figure out the rest.
Redstar tended to the wounded with the medicine cat, his old training kicking in as he applied poultices and cobwebs, and cooed to the kits like any queen.
But there was nothing they could do but stand and watch as Frostsky’s warband swept in, Swiftstorm and Hazelwhisker at his flanks, blood-faced warriors sweeping in behind them. She watched, her heart in his stomach. Redstar, nor any warrior, offered any resistance as he walked in, chin high as yellow eyes swept over the camp. And then, in one fluid motion, Frostsky bounded up the side of the Hollow Ash and took the leader’s perch.
Redstar strode out into the open now as the Clan parted in two, taking opposite ends of the Hollow Ash. Hackles raised, claws unsheathed. One word, one command by either Frostsky or Redstar, and camp would become yet another battlefield.
“LionClan,” their leader hissed as he approached, eyes weary as he glared up at the pretender. “Look where the sturdy rebel sits, even on the Hollow Ash. He aspires to my name, backed by Swiftstorm, that false warrior. Those who killed Sootfang, Ashkit’s mother. And yours, Flypaw.”
“If I am not avenged, StarClan take vengeance on me!” Flypaw shouted, eyes searing with hostility. “I’ll mourn with claws!”
“What, shall we suffer this?” Railscratch spat, Minkeyes’ former apprentice. “Let’s pluck him down!”
Her heart burned with a smoldering anger, tightening in her chest, angling her head to see Frostsky in the Hollow Ash.
“Be patient, gentle Railscratch,” Redstar sighed.
“Patience is for mouse-hearts like him!” Flypaw snapped. “He would not dare sit in that tree, had Sunstar still been alive! Redstar, please, give the command to attack him here!”
“Well spoken, Flypaw!” Nutpaw cried.
Ashkit broke from her side, his tiny hackles raised. “Let’s get him!” he screamed shrilly, for all his youth and innocence, his heart had converted to hate for the white cat who had taken his mother away.
“Ah, but at what cost?” Redstar cursed aloud.
“At any cost, Redstar!” Hollymoon urged quietly.
“Far be the thought of this from my heart,” he answered quietly, “to make shambles of my Clan.” Redstar angled his head up toward Frostsky, as if frowns, words, and threats could dislodge him there. “Frostsky, factious warrior, get down from the Ash and bow for grace and mercy at my feet. I am your leader. ”
Frostsky answered with a haughty, imperious stare, as if he had been Froststar all this time. “I am yours.”
“For shame, come down!” Hollymoon urged, fur bushed out. “Redstar was chosen by StarClan! Do you think to supersede their command?”
“So he claimed. But would StarClan lead us to such indignities as this mouse-heart has done?” Frostsky’s hackles raised. “I remember his prophecy well. ‘A fire will blaze through the forest, and from the ashes will come the sunrise!’ Who came from the ashes if not me? Who faced Firefang and all her unnatural power, if not me—? ”
“They say your father was a traitor,” Hollymoon said, voice heavy. “And now so are you.”
“Medicine cat,” Swiftstorm mewed with a warning growl. “You are a traitor to the Clan in following this usurping Redstar.”
“Whom should she follow but her rightful leader?!” Flypaw spat, eyes wild.
“True, Flypaw; and that’s Frostsky.”
“And shall I stand, and you sit in my place?” Redstar demanded, lifting his voice.
“It must and shall be so,” Frostsky answered. “Content yourself.”
“Be medicine cat and let him be leader,” Swiftstorm mewed, adding her voice.
“He will be both,” Railscratch answered with a growl. “And that I shall maintain!”
“And I shall disprove it,” Swiftstorm retorted, tail lashing. “You forget that we are the ones who chased you from the field and slew your fellow traitors—”
“Yes, Swiftstorm, I remember,” Flypaw rasped, little Ashkit beside her. “And we will always remember. And by their spirits, you and your kin shall rue it!”
“Frostsky,” Railscratch growled. “From you and your kin and your friends, I’ll have more lives than drops of blood were in your father’s veins.”
“Urge it no more,” Flypaw hissed. “Let claws and fangs speak for us now.”
“Poor apprentices,” Swiftstorm sighed. “How I scorn your worthless threats.”
“Should I speak my case?” Frostsky mewed, yellow eyes flashing. “If not, our claws shall plead it in battle.”
“What claim do you have to leadership, traitor?” Redstar asked. “Your father was as you are, Frostsky. I am the son of Sunstar, who made MeadowClan stoop!”
“Talk not of the meadows,” Swiftstorm spat, “since you have lost it all.”
“Honeypad lost them, and not I,” Redstar deflected. “When I was named leader, I was hardly more than an apprentice…”
“You are old enough now, I think,” Crouchpaw jeered. “And yet, I think, you lose. Father, tear the pretender apart! Claim your leader’s name!”
“Sweet father, do it!” Lightpaw echoed. “Name yourself Froststar!”
“Frostsky, as you love honor and honor battle,” Quailtail urged, “let’s fight it out and not stand bickering!”
“Yowl, and Redstar will flee,” Crouchpaw mocked.
“Enough!” Frostsky barked, commanding them to silence.
“Yes, enough!” Redstar’s voice filtered in. “And give your leader leave to speak.”
Swiftstorm bristled. “Frostsky shall speak first. Hear him, clanmates; and be silent and attentive too. Interrupt upon pain of death.”
Redstar interrupted anyway. “Do you think that I will leave my den, the Hollow Ash, where my father and his father sat? No; first war shall empty all our dens. Yes, and those battle cries, often heard in the meadows, shall now herald LionClan’s great sorrow!” He swept his eyes around the Clan, his loyal sympathizers. Mistpelt could only offer him a hollow look, too numb to move. “Why do you grow faint-hearted? StarClan’s sign named me leader. Who can unname me?”
“Prove it, Redstar,” Swiftstorm said, “and you shall be leader.”
Frostsky’s eyes flashed. “StarClan has sent me visions as well,” he mewed, to low murmurs from the Clan. “ None of LeafClan’s leaders have had nine lives since the death of Rosestar! It’s their legacy, Rowanstar and Sunstar, which has left us leaderless and weak now.”
Redstar bristled. Suddenly, he looked… uncertain. “Rowanstar was supported by the Clan.”
“It was by rebellion against his leader,” Frostsky retorted.
His fur was fluffed out. “And is that not where you stand now?” he growled. “Tell me, may a leader not choose a deputy?”
Frostsky lashed his tail. “What of it?”
“And if he may, then did Rosestar not resign his leadership in the view of the entire Clan?” Redstar questioned. They had all heard the stories, if they had not seen it with their own eyes… but how many were alive who had seen it? Mistpelt blinked, dully looking around their diminished ranks.
It had been long before either Redstar or Frostsky’s births, but a part of her remembered, huddled in the nursery with Mousespots and wondering why Ivyflower had gone away. Good stars, how young most of her clanmates seemed just then. Was she growing old?
“Rowanstar rose against him, being his leader,” Frostsky snarled. “And made him resign by force. That was the first wrong done; I only mean to undo it.”
“Suppose he did resign voluntarily,” Swiftstorm mewed. “But did he do things the proper way?”
“No…” Hollymoon murmured suddenly. “Because Rowanstar was never named a deputy. The leadership should have gone to Elderheart, or some have said Rosestar meant to raise up the one called Paleface that night…”
Redstar seemed to droop, turning with his mouth agape. “Are you against us, Hollymoon…?”
“He’s right on this,” Hollymoon admitted through gritted teeth. “So forgive me… My conscience tells me that StarClan meant for a different leader.”
Redstar’s eyes and tail fell low.
Murmurs rippled among the warriors as Frostsky surveyed them from atop the Ash. “Why do you whisper and not give me an answer?”
Ashkit, furious little Ashkit, had more fight in him. Mistpelt did not have the heart or strength or energy to wrangle her away back to the nursery, another kit without a mother, like her.
“You won’t ever be my leader!” the kit spat up fearlessly. “Redstar won’t back down to you!”
If only Redstar looked so sure, Mistpelt thought.
“Redstar shall be deposed, in spite of all,” Swiftstorm said firmly.
“You’re wrong!” Ashkit said, hackles on end.
“Redstar, if all these old dead cats are right or wrong, I vow to fight in your defense!” Flypaw said. “May the ground gape and swallow me alive, where I bow my head to him that slew my mother!”
“Oh, brave Flypaw,” Redstar said. “Your words revive my heart!”
Frostsky glowered down from his perch. “Redstar, in view of your ancestors, resign the leadership.”
“Do right by him, or this camp and the Hollow Ash and all will be coated in more blood,” Swiftstorm warned. She held up her tail in a silent signal, and the warband answered with yowls. Quailtail, Hazelwhisker, Smokestripe, Mistlespeck, Fleckfur, Owlswoop, Hickorystone, Lightpaw, Mallowpaw, and Crouchpaw, all fell into fighting postures, forming a close-knit line behind the dusky brown senior warrior.
Redstar eyed them all, growing stiff. He glanced around at his other clanmates, standing in scattered fear around the green hollow, and at the many bodies left from Spades’ rampage. Mistpelt dared not look at those bodies any longer.
Finally, the young dark ginger tom raised a quavering voice. “Swiftstorm, hear just this one word,” he said suddenly. “Let me rule as leader for my lifetime.”
Frostsky’s eyes narrowed with intent. “Confirm me as your deputy,” he mewed, “and you shall rule in quiet while you live.”
Mistpelt held her breath, the Clan held their breaths, as their eyes lingered on the young tom. Would he truly consider it…?
“I am content,” Redstar said at last, voice thin. “I say these words before StarClan, so that the spirits of our warrior ancestors may hear and approve of my choice. The new deputy of LionClan is Frostsky.”
A cold silence answered the proclamation, until Flypaw’s outraged yowl shattered the morning stillness. “What wrong is this to all who supported you…!”
Swiftstorm twitched her whiskers. “What good is this for LionClan and himself!”
“Mouse-heart…” she heard Railscratch growled under his breath.
“How you have injured both yourself and us!” Flypaw snarled, turning her rage on Redstar now.
“I cannot stay to hear more of this!” Railscratch hissed.
“Nor I!” Nutpaw spat.
And so they stormed out; Flypaw first, Nutpaw, Railscratch and Mothhawk after them. Ashkit attempted to follow, but this time, Mistpelt did pin her paw on his tail, keeping him struggling in place. Redstar’s mouth opened and shut, wordlessly, almost as if he might chase after them.
“Turn this way, and regard them not, Redstar,” Swiftstorm mewed with all the intonation of a weary queen or mentor.
“They seek revenge and therefore will not yield,” Hollymoon said.
“Ah, Hollymoon…!” Redstar sniffled.
“Why should you sigh, Redstar?” Swiftstorm asked, more gently this time.
“Not for myself, but for my Clan,” Redstar said bitterly. “But be it as it may: I here name Frostsky my deputy, to rule as leader after my death. Conditionally, that you take an oath to cease this internal war, and while I live, to honor me as your rightful leader. And neither by treason or hostility, seek to put me down and reign yourself.”
Frostsky leaped down from the Ash now, approaching Redstar. About a fox-length away, he stooped his head in a bow. “This oath I willingly take and perform.”
“Long live Redstar!” Swiftstorm yowled. “Frostsky, touch noses with him.”
“And long live you and your forward kits,” Redstar said, as they closed the distance in a stride. Uneasily, they bumped noses. Redstar licked his shoulder, and Frostsky mirrored the gesture.
“Now our Clan is reconciled,” Frostsky said silkily.
“Accursed be they that seeks to make us all foes!” Hollymoon intoned.
Redstar looked as if he may dismiss the Clan then and there, walking with his head low back toward the mouth of the Hollow Ash. But his mate shouldered through the ranks, green-gold eyes blazing fury, teeth bared in a furious snarl as she strode after him.
“Do not run from me!” Marigoldpatch snarled as Redstar quickened his pace for a step, only to freeze at her shout. “I will follow you!”
“Be patient, gentle love, and I will stay—”
“Who can be patient in such extremes?!” she snapped after him. “Ah, wretched mouse! Would I had died as an apprentice and never seen you, never borne you a son, seeing you have proved so unnatural a father!”
Maplekit straggled not far behind his mother, scampering on little legs, eyes wide as his mother’s words tore into his father.
“Forgive me, Marigoldpatch; forgive me, sweet son,” Redstar voiced in return, hardly above a whisper. “Swiftstorm and Frostsky have enforced me—”
“Enforced you?!” Marigoldpatch roared, shoving past Frostsky, even as the warrior’s hackles rose and he wrinkled his face in pure hatred. “Are you a leader, and shall you be forced?! I am ashamed to hear you speak! Ah, timorous wretch! You have undone yourself, your Clan, and me; and given your enemies such claws that you shall only reign by their sufferance.
“To name him deputy after all he’s done, what is it, but to make your grave and creep into it far before your time? Swiftstorm will be his deputy before long, and yet shall you be safe? Such safety finds the trembling prey ringed by hunters. Had I been in your place, the warriors should have clawed me to pieces before I would have granted their demand! But you prefer your life before your honor.”
Redstar just turned away again, wordless, castigated by his mate for the entire Clan to see. Not for the first time, but Marigoldpatch was spitting fury. And even surrounded by her enemies, the meadow-born queen did not flinch or retract her words.
She continued, “And seeing you do, I separate myself from your side, Redstar, and your nest! Until this foul wrong is righted again, I will not stay in this rogue’s den of a camp! I cannot trust my own or my son’s safety among these foxes.”
Marigoldpatch turned on her heel, out toward the bramble tunnel where Flypaw and the other warriors had left, and Maplekit went scampering after her.
Redstar stepped after them, eyes wide. “Stay, gentle Marigoldpatch, and hear me speak—!”
“You have spoken too much already!” Marigoldpatch snarled, as cats parted the way for her. Mistpelt watched with dull eyes, pulling Littlekit and Oakkit closer with her tail. “Get you gone!”
“Maplekit,” Redstar said, voice softening, lowering himself so he could see his son better face to face. “Will you stay with me?”
“Yes, to be murdered by his enemies?” Marigoldpatch snapped.
Maplekit met Redstar’s gaze hesitatingly, before snapping his head back to Marigoldpatch. He stepped closer to his mother’s side, almost hiding between her legs, and that was declaration enough.
“Come, Maplekit, let’s go,” Marigoldpatch said, sweeping the kit to her side. “We may not linger.”
Redstar watched them leave, no one by his side now. Mistpelt could hardly find it in her heart to pity him there, as the Clan began to dissolve around them. “Poor queen… How love to me and to her son has made her break out in terms of rage… I hope they do not stay away from camp…”
The medicine cat sidled up to him. “Come, Redstar. We shall reconcile them all…”