[TB] TWILIGHT -- Chapter 1 (Patreon)

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“You haven’t answered me,” hissed Tinystar. He drew forward on his branch, his thin claws flashing in the moonlight. “What happened to Onewhisker?!”

Mudstar glowered at Tinystar. The entire clearing held its breath, waiting for him to speak. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.

“Onewhisker is dead.”

For a long moment, Shadepool wasn’t certain whether what she was hearing was stunned silence, or if the crowd had burst into so much of a sudden, raging cacophony that she was struck deaf. Her ears felt stuffed to their limits, her mind racing so fast that she had to dig her claws deep into the hard, cold earth to keep herself steady.

Onewhisker is dead.

She felt the other medicine cats beside her bristling with alarm. Sound was slowly creeping back into Shadepool’s ears. Poor Ryewhisper was rounded upon immediately, shrinking into his pelt as Mothwing, Brackenfur, and Littlecloud all demanded to know what was happening all at once, all of them desperate to know where Barkface was, and what had happened.

Shadepool could only stare at the young medicine cat helplessly. He looked so scared. She wanted to tell them to stop, to leave him alone – but she couldn’t summon the strength. Everyone was so loud, so angry, so incredulous, and it felt like Shadepool was drowning beneath a roaring tide of ice-cold water and being smashed to bits by its unrelenting power.

“Enough!”

Russetstar’s thin, railing screech brought silence.

Shadepool, ears flat, looked up at the ShadowClan leader gratefully; but she soon took her relief back. Russetstar was coiled on her branch of the Great Oak like a cat about to spring, glaring at Mudstar with fury in her pale eyes, the moonlight striking her shoulders such that they looked like talons.

“What do you mean, Onewhisker is dead?” she hissed. Shadepool saw the glint of her claws, the shine of her teeth. “What in StarClan's name is happening in WindClan?!”

“Did you not all agree that Onewhisker was to be leader?” Leopardstar, spurred by Russetstar, meowed on. Her dappled head was lowered in the moonlight to meet Mudstar’s stony expression from her higher branch. Her eyes were like a hawk’s, sharp and direct, yet Shadepool could see that she was shaken, too. “Did he choose you to be his deputy before he died?”

It was a very simple question, really, and one that could quell so much of the outrage. Shadepool gauged the crowd – every cat wore an expression of shock or anger or suspicion, some all three at once - and she noted that the strongest emotions were coming from her own Clanmates. Onewhisker had been a friend to ThunderClan for a long time, and they had fought the hardest and bled the most for his bid to be the leader of WindClan.

To find out that it had all been for nothing...

Onewhisker is dead.

Shadepool feared looking at her father, but she had to. Tinystar was a small black void, curled up tight on his branch. His tail was hanging ominously still, his eyes wide to their whites and fixated intensely on Mudstar, two stars burning with cold flames.

Shadepool felt fear trickle down her spine at the sight of him – her father was famous for his barely contained temper, and his viciousness in battle. She couldn’t possibly imagine him breaking the full-moon truce between the four Clans, but if Mudstar’s next words pushed him too far...

Mudstar met the challenges of the RiverClan and ShadowClan leaders with his chin held high, however, as if their aggression meant nothing to him: “Onewhisker did not choose a deputy before his death,” he stated plainly.

The whole of the Gathering listened in rapturous silence. The unease in the air was like a thick fog. Shadepool wanted to bite her paw, to wake up from this horrible, uncomfortable dream; to be in a world where this had not happened, and never would.

Mudstar’s gaze was level as he meowed on, “The night after the battle was decided, he set off immediately to the Moonpool to receive his lives and name. Barkface went with him.”

“He hoped StarClan might send him a sign about a new deputy, but... They did not return the next evening,” rasped Ryewhisper, who lifted his head from where he cowered. Shadepool glanced back at him. He was trembling as he went on: “The journey there is long - we t-thought that perhaps they were just taking their time.”

“They were not.” Mudstar’s voice was sharp. He curled his lip. “When it became clear that something was amiss, patrols were sent to search for them.” His eyes were hard on the crowd, but there was a tremor in his mew: “Onewhisker was swiftly found, left as food for the carrion birds in a hollow on our side of the Divide, just outside our territory. By our estimates, he never made it to the Moonpool to claim his lives.”

“Great StarClan!” gasped a cat from RiverClan, the old she-cat Brackenflight. “A leader killed on their way to the Moonpool?!” She looked faint.

“That’s against the warrior code!” seethed Dustpelt. His eyes were narrowed to slits, the fur of his neck bristling. “No cat from any Clan is to stop another from seeing StarClan! Especially not would-be leaders!”

“It had to have been rogues!” agreed Cedarheart of ShadowClan. He stood up beside his mate, Finchsong. “No Clan cat would be so fox-hearted!”

“Don’t be too sure,” Mudstar growled. His expression was dark and dangerous, and it made Shadepool want to wail. Fear-scent rose in the crowd, strong and thick, and cats mumbled worriedly. Only the WindClan cats in the crowd stood still and solid, eyes downcast to their paws, not a one saying a word out of turn.

Shadepool's pelt prickled. Even Crowflight was keeping his jaws firmly closed. Whatever Mudstar's story was building to, not only did he know it, he wasn't going to speak against it. Somehow, that made things even worse.

Brackenfur stood, bristling. “What of Barkface?! Where is he?”

Shadepool’s heart fluttered. She didn’t know Barkface very well, but he was the eldest medicine cat in the four Clans, and he had always been kind to her during her training. He’d felt almost like a distant grandfather. If any cat could calm a storm, it was him.

“Is he alright?” Littlecloud demanded, worry gleaming in his eyes.

Shadepool's legs trembled. Attacking a warrior on their way to the Moonpool was one thing, they were trained to defend themselves, to expect death in combat; but if some cat had hurt Barkface, a medicine cat...

“We found Barkface huddled deep inside an old badger's den.” Crowflight’s voice astonished Shadepool – she leaned in close, wanting to draw all the information she could from him, this cat that she loved. He was the only bright spot in this dark, furious storm swirling around the Clans.

The black tom’s gaze wavered. When Mudstar nodded for him to continue, Crowflight meowed, “He had been there, injured, the whole time. We think he must have escaped during the fighting – perhaps... perhaps Onewhisker had used himself as a distraction to save him.” Crowflight took a shuddering breath. “We took him back to camp to treat his injuries, but...”

“He’s not doing well,” Ryewhisper reported. He was staring at his paws. “He’s barely surviving. His wounds are deep, and a terrible infection has set in.”

Shadepool’s heart dropped. Would this ever end? No, oh no! How could it all have gone so wrong?

“After they were found, the Clan came together and decided that I would be their leader,” Mudstar rasped. His voice was resolute, firm. “Some days later, after one of the blizzards, Ryewhisper and I took the journey to the Moonpool, with a few warriors for our protection. I spoke with StarClan, and they gave me my name and my lives and advised me on how to proceed, suggesting Crowflight be my deputy.”

“Mudstar! Mudstar! Crowflight!” cheered the WindClan cats, their voices ringing loud and true in the cold leafbare air. Several scattered cats from the other Clans joined in, while the quiet ones still looked uncertain and confused. No cat in ThunderClan joined in the welcoming chorus, and Shadepool saw Dustpelt’s eyes turning to slits toward Mudstar.

Shadepool couldn’t bring herself to cheer, either, even though she should have. The grief was too much, balled up in her throat like a tough bit of fresh-kill. Her eyes stung not from the bitter cold, and her stomach curdled uncomfortably. This waking nightmare was making her head hurt.

“Who did this?!” hissed Tinystar. His voice was so quiet, so very dangerous. Shadepool saw his claws sink deep into the bark of his branch.

“Yes, we must know who!” Leopardstar insisted. The fur along her spine was bristling to its ends, her ears pinned flat to her skull. “An animal? A pack of rogues?”

Russetstar’s tail lashed, her eyes flashing. “They will be made to pay!”

The whole Gathering clamored, now:

“Injuring a medicine cat is a crime against all the Clans!” snarled Falcontail of RiverClan. “Against StarClan!”

“Will they strike again?” fretted Ferncloud, her voice trembling. Beside her, Snowstep rested his muzzle against her shoulder, his ears twitching a calm assurance that he would protect her.

Finchsong, Cedarheart’s mate, was nodding beside the other queens. “We must defend ourselves! If they attacked a would-be leader, where will they stop?”

The theories sprang up, each one wilder than the last: a horde of badgers, BloodClan’s return, the ghosts of Bluestar and her LionClan, even. A ShadowClan warrior suggested kittypets, only to be hissed down by his Clanmates as a frog-brain. Another cat from RiverClan suggested Twolegs or dogs, but that, too, was dismissed as a foolish notion.

Shadepool’s ears buzzed. The island felt like it was full of bees, all trying to reach their hive. She could feel something prickling at her pelt – the press of the crowd, the noise in the air... It wasn’t just pressing down onto her, but her brother as well, who was deeper in the throng of cats, and utterly surrounded by the clamor. Shadepool struggled against the feeling, trying to push it up and away from them both; but even Nightfrost seemed too overwhelmed to help her.

“Settle down!” a voice yowled over the rest. Shadepool’s ears pricked – it was Mistyfoot! The pressure in Shadepool's mind eased, just a little. Her Clanmate’s head glowed silver in the moonlight as she raised her muzzle. “Speculating is going to get us nowhere. We need to listen to our leaders, and stay calm!”

That seemed to settle the crowd for the most part, but Shadepool did not miss more than one WindClan cat glaring at Mistyfoot, as if they were offended by her daring to silence them. Shadepool tipped her head in confusion. Mistyfoot was a chosen cat, respected in all the Clans after leading them to the lake - wasn’t she?

“Well?” pressed Russetstar. “Have you any leads on who might have done this?”

Mudstar’s eyes flashed at the ShadowClan leader. “We do.”

“Tell us!” Leopardstar hissed.

“Yes,” Tinystar meowed harshly, leaning forward. “Tell us. Onewhisker’s death and Barkface’s injury must not go unpunished.”

Mudstar’s eyes narrowed. “No, they should not.”

The entire Gathering fell quiet once more. Every cat had their ears pricked, now, anticipation tingling in the air like cold rainfall. Shadepool swallowed around the huge, solid lump in her throat. Whatever Mudstar named as the threat, the four Clans could face it together – they could do anything together. The Great Journey had proven that without a doubt.

“At the scene, it was unmistakable,” Mudstar announced. “A scent that any cat here would recognize - and though we could not identify an individual, we know where they came from.”

The air grew thick again as cats began to speculate in hushed tones. Shadepool’s pelt prickled – why was Mudstar making this such a dramatic announcement? His gaze was panning over the crowd, his expression unreadable.

Just say it, and let it be done!

“It was ThunderClan!” Mudstar yowled, finally. Bristling from ears to tail, he ground his claws into his branch as he glared at Tinystar. “ThunderClan killed Onewhisker!”