A small, ginger she-cat padded forward until she was barely a mouse-length from Tigerclaw’s muzzle. He flinched when he realized he couldn’t feel her breath on his nose, then reminded himself that these cats no longer lived the way he did.
“We have waited a long time for you,” meowed the she-cat. “My name is Littlebird, and I died without being able to save my Clan from Brokenstar. Now my Clan can be strong again.”
Tigerclaw bowed his head. “If you will help me, then I will lead your Clan to greater victories than it has ever known before.”
“Victory isn’t everything,” Littlebird mewed lightly. “Sometimes peace brings greater rewards.”
Believe that if you wish. Once I am leader, I will use your former Clan to seek revenge on every cat who has ever wronged me.
Littlebird leaned forward and pressed her muzzle against Tigerstar’s head. She had to stretch on tiptoe to reach. “I give you a life for compassion,” she murmured. “Try to understand what is important to other cats, not just yourself, and let that guide your paws.”
In an instant, Tigerclaw’s mind whirled with countless images of cats in pain, joy-filled cats, cats wailing in terror or hissing with fury. He staggered, overwhelmed by the emotions that poured into him from all sides, and deafened by the noise inside his world.
“Be strong, Tigerclaw,” Littlebird whispered. “It takes more courage than you know to feel what other cats do.”
Tigerclaw straightened up. If I am the leader of my Clan, and my word is law, why should I concern myself with what my Clanmates think? My duty is to lead them; theirs is to follow. “Thank you, Littlebird,” he meowed out loud.
The ferns behind Littlebird stirred and a tiny shape slipped out. Not much bigger than a newborn kit, with a black-and-white pelt that glowed in the half-light, the cat trotted up to Tigerclaw and craned its neck to look up at him. “I am Badgerfang!” he squeaked.
Tigerclaw snorted. “Are you sure? You’re the smallest warrior I’ve ever seen!”
There was a flash of anger in the little cat’s eyes that belied his fragile size. “I died as Badgerpaw when I was four moons old. Brokenstar forced me and my littermates to fight in battles before we should even have become apprentices. But I fought bravely and gave my life to save my
Clan. Because of that, my mentor, Flintfang, said I could choose my warrior name.”
Tigerclaw nodded. “Fine. So what life can you give me?”
Badgerfang blinked. “Be patient,” he warned. “Your lives will come as we wish to give them, not as you wish to receive them.” He took a step closer and stretched up until his muzzle brushed Tigerclaw’s chin. “I give you a life for training your young cats wisely. Train them when they are
strong enough to survive their first battle, and encourage them to listen to many cats, including the elders, to learn the most from their Clanmates’ histories.”
Tigerclaw felt a rush of warmth flood through him, filled with the chattering voices of tiny kits.
He recognized his own eagerness to leave the nursery and start training, and he curled his lip with amusement. Oh, I will train my young Clanmates, he vowed. They will soon know they belong to the most powerful Clan in the forest and deserve nothing but victory in every battle!
Badgerfang trotted away, casting a shadow no bigger than Tigerclaw’s front paw, and another cat stood before him. Tigerclaw stared in disbelief at the tall, ginger cat who fathered him. “Pinestar!” he breathed.
The red-furred tom nodded. “Yes, although that is not the name I had when I died.”
Tigerclaw felt his claws unsheathe and sink into the soft earth. “Because you were a kittypet,” he snarled.
“That was my choice for my final life,” Pinestar agreed. “But I walk with our ancestors for tonight to give you a life for being aware of what goes on beyond Clan borders. There are good cats everywhere, Tigerclaw. Do not forget that.” He leaned forward and brushed Tigerclaw’s nose with his own.
A flurry of images flashed into Tigerclaw’s mind, of green fields, lazy swollen rivers, Twolegplaces made of hard red stone, crisscrossed with Thunderpaths and humming with the sound of monsters. He shook his head to clear it. “I will be loyal to my Clanmates above all others,” he growled.
Pinestar inclined his head. “The warrior code demands nothing less. But do not assume that every other cat is an enemy or unable to help you in some way.” He turned to leave, then looked back. “I am proud of you, my son,” he mewed. “When I left the forest, I thought I would never see you again. But here you are, leader of ShadowClan. Perhaps not the choice I would have made,” he added wryly, “but you have traveled a hard path to get here, and you deserve your reward.”
And I did it all without you, Tigerclaw hissed inside his mind. His pelt prickled at the thought that his father—the treacherous warrior-turned-kittypet—dared give him—loyal to the last, nothing but warrior blood running in his veins—one of his lives. I won’t mind losing that one in battle , he thought.
The next cat to face him was a small, pale gray she-cat that Tigerclaw didn’t recognize. As if reading his thoughts, she meowed, “You won’t know me, Tigerclaw. My name is Whitetail. I walked in these woods long ago, before you were even dreamed of. But if we had met before, would you have noticed me, I wonder?”
Surprised, Tigerclaw looked more closely at the she-cat. Her head only just reached his chest, and her pelt hung loosely on her bony frame. If he had encountered her in the midst of a battle, he would have flung her aside with a flick of his paw as if she was nothing more than a moth in his way.
Whitetail didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I give you a life for understanding that size isn’t everything. Strength does not always mean power, and you should respect your enemies, whatever they look like.” She touched her muzzle to his chest, and Tigerclaw felt a strange calm spread through him, cold and heavy like water on his fur. To his dismay, he started to shiver—not just from cold but from fear as well. What was he frightened of? He sank his claws deeper into the ground to hold himself still.
Whitetail looked up at him. “Beware the small cats,” she whispered, then turned and walked back into the shadows.
A long-legged, light brown tabby came next, introducing himself as Sedgestar, leader of ShadowClan when there were still five Clans in the forest. He was so old, Tigerclaw could clearly see the trees behind him through his misty outline. But his voice was strong and steady as he rested his muzzle on Tigerclaw’s head.
“I give you a life for pride in ShadowClan, knowing they can stand alone through any challenge.
ShadowClan needs no allegiances, no help from other Clans when times are hard. Your cats will always find a way to survive if you give them a chance, Tigerclaw.”
This life made Tigerclaw feel as if he was growing from the inside, taller than a fox, broader than a badger, filled with the certainty that ShadowClan was the strongest of all. Whatever happened in the forest, ShadowClan would emerge victorious!
A ginger-and-white she-cat with gentle eyes took Sedgestar’s place. “I am Flowerstar,” she meowed. “Like you, I was not the deputy to the previous leader of ShadowClan. That leader, Brightwhisker, died on her first night of leadership, before she had a chance to receive her nine lives and before she could appoint a new deputy. Our medicine cat, Redscar, found a sign from StarClan—the stalk of an early-blooming snowdrop—that showed our ancestors wished for me to become the next leader.” She leaned closer and pressed her sweet-scented nose to Tigerclaw’s cheek.
“I give you a life for placing all your faith in StarClan,” she murmured. “Trust your warrior ancestors, let them guide you when all seems dark, and honor them with your loyalty for all your lives.”