PROLOGUE

      Moonlight washed over the hillside, casting heavy shadows around a thick wall of thornbushes. The bushes surrounded a hollow with rocky sides that sloped down steeply to a pool in the shape of a full moon. Halfway up the side of the hollow, a trickle of water bubbled up between two moss-covered stones, glimmering like liquid starshine as it fell into the pool below.

      The branches rustled and parted as cats emerged at the top of the hollow and began to pick their way down to the water’s edge. Their pelts shone with a soft, pale light, and their pawsteps left a frosty glitter on the moss behind them.

      A tortoiseshell she-cat was the first to reach the pool. She looked around with glowing eyes. “Yes,” she purred. “This is the place.”

      “You’re right, Spottedleaf. When we chose the four cats to lead the Clans out of the forest, we chose well.” The reply came from a blue-grey warrior who was approaching from the other side of the hollow. She leaped down from a jutting rock to face the tortoiseshell across the moonlit water. “But the Clans still have a hard task ahead of them.”

      Spottedleaf dipped her head in agreement. “Yes, Bluestar. Their courage and faith will be tried to their limits. But they have come this far—they will not give up.”

      More starry warriors joined them, clustering around the water until the hollow was lined with their sleek, shining shapes.

      “Our journey was hard, too,” one cat meowed.

      “We felt the pain of leaving the paths we had walked for so long,” added another.

      “Now we must learn to walk in new skies.” Spottedleaf’s voice was full of confidence. She sat on a rock near the tumbling stream and wrapped her tail around her paws. “We must guide our Clans to this new meeting place, where we can speak to the leaders and medicine cats. Then this will truly be home for all five Clans.”

      A murmur of agreement rose, and a gleam of hope shone in the eyes of the cats around her.

      “They will catch fish from the lake,” one cat meowed.

      “And prey is running in the hills and beside the water,” another put in. “All the Clans will find food, even in leaf-bare.”

      The blue-grey warrior still seemed uneasy. “There’s more to life than fresh-kill,” she mewed.

      A bracken-coloured tom thrust his way to the front of the crowd. “They’re not kits,” he pointed out impatiently. “They know how to avoid Twolegs and their dogs. Foxes and badgers, too.”

      “Not all trouble comes from Twolegs,” Bluestar snapped. She swiveled her head to glare into the tom’s eyes. “And not from foxes or badgers either, Oakheart. You know that as well as I do. The Clans bring trouble within themselves.”

      The warriors glanced uneasily at one another, but Oakheart dipped his head. “Of course. And they always will. That is part of what it means to be a warrior.”

      “Trouble from within greatest danger brings.” A new voice spoke, deep and gravelly.

      Bluestar whipped around, her neck fur rising, and stared at the newcomer standing at the top of the hollow. It was too big and solid to be a cat. Instead, it seemed as if a clot of darkness had entered the circle of thornbushes, in which the watching cats could just make out broad, muscular limbs and the gleam of small, bright eyes.

      After a few heartbeats Bluestar relaxed. “Welcome, friend,” she meowed. “StarClan owes you thanks. You have done well.”

      “By me is little done,” the newcomer replied. “These cats their destiny have faced with courage.”

      “The Clans have travelled far and suffered a great deal of sadness that we were powerless to ease,” Spottedleaf agreed. “They kept going even when we lost sight and hearing of them among the mountains, when they walked the paths of a different Tribe. Now they must learn to be four Clans again.” She looked solemn. “There will be much pain, especially for those who travelled together to the sun-drown-water. They won’t find it easy to forget their friendship.”

      “They must mark out their new territories as soon as they can.” Oakheart’s voice rumbled in his throat. “There’ll be trouble there.”

      “Every loyal warrior will want the best for their Clan,” meowed Bluestar.

      “So long as it is their Clan that they fight for,” returned Oakheart, “and not themselves.”

      “That’s where the danger lies,” murmured an anxious voice. A tomcat with a glossy black coat was gazing down into the silvery water as if he could see danger rising to the surface like a giant fish. “I see one cat, hungry for power that is not deserved . . .”

      “Not deserved?” A lean tom with a crooked jaw sprang to his paws on the other side of the pool, the fur on his shoulders bristling in fury. “Nightstar, how dare you say ‘not deserved’?”

      The black tom’s pelt rippled in the moonlight as he looked up. “Very well, Crookedstar, not deserved yet,” he meowed. “This cat needs to learn the virtue of patience. Power is not a piece of prey to be grabbed before it escapes.”

      The cat with the crooked jaw sat down again, though the anger stayed in his eyes. “Would you have all our warriors as timid as mice?” he muttered.

      Nightstar’s eyes narrowed and his tail-tip twitched, but before he could spit out a reply another cat padded forward: a thick-furred grey she-cat with a broad face and a fierce gleam in her eyes. She stood beside Spottedleaf at the mossy edge of the pool and gazed down into the water. After a few moments, ripples began to spread in circles from the middle of the pool and wash against the bank.

      The grey she-cat lifted her head. “I have seen what will come,” she growled. “There are dark times ahead.”

      A stir of anxiety passed through the cats like wind rippling through reeds, but no cat dared to question her out loud.

      “Well?” Bluestar demanded when the silence had stretched out for several heartbeats. “Tell us what you mean, Yellowfang.”

      The grey she-cat hesitated. “I am not certain what I have seen,” she rasped at last. “And you won’t like what I have to tell you.” She closed her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was deeper and quieter than before, so that every cat had to strain to listen: “‘Before there is peace, blood will spill blood, and the lake will run red.’”

      Bluestar stiffened, and she bent her head to look into the water. A red stain was spreading across the surface, rippling outward until the water flamed scarlet. It seemed to reflect the fire of sunset, yet above the hollow the moon still floated in thin drifts of cloud.

      A gasp of horror rose from the cats. Spottedleaf padded forward, trembling, and stared desperately into the water as if she were searching for something that would challenge Yellowfang’s ominous words.

      “Are you trying to find out what will happen to Firestar?” Bluestar asked her gently. “Don’t search too hard, Spottedleaf. You of all cats should know that sometimes there is nothing we can do.”

      Spottedleaf raised her head, and there was a fiercely determined light in her eyes. “I would do anything to help Firestar,” she hissed. “I will protect him with all the power of StarClan.”

      “But even that may not be enough,” Bluestar warned her.

      Around them, the warriors of StarClan began to pad away from the pool, climbing the slope and slipping back through the thornbushes until the shimmer of their pelts vanished and the only light in the hollow came from the reflection of the moon in the water.

      The creature in the shadows remained a moment longer, watching