Bluestar's Prophecy

Chapter 45

Bluestar sat alone in the clearing and gazed up at Silverpelt. All around her, the camp stirred with the restless murmuring of wounded warriors.

Unease chilled her pelt. ThunderClan was weaker now than it had been since Pinestar had been leader. Was this how she blazed through the forest?

Spottedleaf padded out of the fern tunnel and halted beside Bluestar.

Bluestar looked at her. “How’s Mousefur?”

“Her wounds are deep.” Spottedleaf settled herself on the night-cool ground. “But she is young and strong. She’ll heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They’ll survive.”

Bluestar sighed. “We’re lucky not to have lost any cat.” She tilted her head again and studied the stars. “I’m worried by this defeat, Spottedleaf. ThunderClan hasn’t been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she murmured. “These are difficult times for our Clan. Newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

“There will be more kits when greenleaf comes,” Spottedleaf pointed out calmly.

Bluestar shifted her paws. “Maybe. But training takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

“Are you asking StarClan for answers?” Spottedleaf mewed, following Bluestar’s gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

“Have they spoken to you?”

“Not for some moons.”

As she spoke, a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s tail twitched, and the fur rippled along her spine. Bluestar’s ears pricked up, but she kept silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward. After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “A message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “Fire alone can save our Clan.”

Bluestar’s tail bristled. “Fire?” The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue gaze on the medicine cat. “You’ve never been wrong, Spottedleaf,” she meowed. “It must be so. Fire will save our Clan.”

But how?

“Goosefeather once said I would be the fire,” Bluestar confessed, uneasy at sharing the old medicine cat’s prophecy after all these moons.

“I know.” Spottedleaf gazed at her leader with clear, unblinking eyes.

“Was he right?” Bluestar leaned forward, desperate with curiosity. Had she been chasing an empty dream all these years? Had she sacrificed her kits for nothing?

“You saved the Clan from Thistleclaw’s leadership. He would have drowned us in blood. And you’ve led the Clan through many moons, keeping it strong and safe.”

Bluestar shook her head. “And now I have led it to defeat. That’s not exactly blazing through the forest.”

“Sunningrocks will be won and lost many more times.” Spottedleaf shrugged.

“But if I have followed my destiny, why does StarClan still speak of fire now?”

“Perhaps you haven’t finished,” Spottedleaf mewed.

“What more can I do?”

A moon passed, and the Clan began to recover from its defeat. At last newleaf was pushing away the leaf-bare chill. The forest was starting to buzz with life, the trees a green haze, the undergrowth starting to crowd the forest floor once more.

Bluestar padded beside Whitestorm as they walked along the Twoleg border. “How much do you remember about Snowfur?” she asked. She’d often wondered if her kits remembered her. If they did, they never gave any clue of it at Gatherings.

“I remember her smell and the warmth of lying beside her,” Whitestorm replied. “Having you around kept her memory alive. You carried the same scent and sometimes, even now, I see my mother in the twitch of your whiskers or the flick of your tail.”

Touched, Bluestar purred. “Do you remember the way Tigerkit was always leading you into trouble, then letting you take the blame?”

Whitestorm flicked his tail. “We had fun, though.”

“And Brindlekit and Frostkit would do anything to get your attention. Brindlekit even convinced you once that there was a fox trapped in the dirtplace!”

Whitestorm glanced at her. “Why all this nostalgia?” he asked.

Bluestar stared straight ahead. “Do you think I’ve made the right choices?”

“Only StarClan knows that for sure,” Whitestorm replied. “We can only do what we think is right at the time.”

“What if that isn’t enough?”

Whitestorm halted and stood in front of her, worry darkening his gaze. “Why are you questioning yourself like this?” He sat down and wrapped his tail over his paws. “I know we lost Sunningrocks, but we’ll win it back once the Clan is stronger. You are a good leader, strong and fair. The Clan respects you.”

“I should never have let the Clan grow weak.”

“It’s been a tough leaf-bare.” A blackbird fluttered onto a branch overhead and began its song. “But newleaf has come.”

Bluestar breathed in the fresh smell of new life. The air was laced with prey-scent. “I wish it could always be this way. Peaceful, with plenty of food.”

Whitestorm’s whiskers twitched. “If wishes were prey, we’d eat like lions come leaf-bare.” He stood up, preparing to move off. “But we’d die of boredom!” His mew grew more serious. “You know that’s not what the life of the Clans is like. The warrior code guides us through the dark times, the cold and the hunger. And the good times seem all the sweeter for it. Have faith, Bluestar. We’ll survive.”

He headed through the trees and, sighing, Bluestar followed. How had the tiny kit she’d helped raise become such a strong, wise warrior?

They weaved along the tree line at the edge of the forest, through air tainted with Twoleg smell. Bluestar gazed at the Twoleg nest beyond the sunny stretch of scrub, thinking as she always did of Pinestar. Now that he walked with StarClan, did he regret his decision to leave?

A flash of orange pelt caught her eye. A ginger kittypet tom was crouching on the fence. He stared into the forest with eyes green as holly leaves, flashing with interest.

“Wait.” Bluestar halted Whitestorm with a touch of her tail. “Keep still.” She didn’t want to frighten this kittypet. As she gazed at him, the sun caught his pelt, sparking like flame.

The kittypet lashed his tail as the blackbird flitted from the trees and swooped overhead. The tom reared up on his hind paws, reaching out with unsheathed claws and missing the swooping bird only by a whisker.

“Not bad,” Whitestorm conceded.

The kittypet had kept his balance, and now he crouched again, tail twitching with frustration, eyes eager for another bird.

“Are you worried he’ll be a threat to our prey?” Whitestorm whispered.

“Worried?” Bluestar echoed. Worry was the last thing on her mind.

Fire will save the Clan.

The kittypet twisted his head around to lap his fiery pelt. There was something about the spark in his eye and the sharp-ness of his movements, the restlessness betrayed in his ruffled pelt, that held Bluestar’s attention.

He was just like a Clan cat. Once the kittypet softness had been trained out of him…

No.

Bluestar shook her head. What was she thinking? The Clan did need new blood, new warriors to strengthen its ranks.

But a kittypet?

The flame-colored kittypet was still on Bluestar’s mind at dusk as she shared tongues with Lionheart and Brindleface. The Clan was content, well fed for the first time in moons, and warm.

“What’s wrong?” Brindleface mewed.

“What?” Bluestar was jolted from her thoughts.

“You’ve been staring into the trees ever since you came back with Whitestorm.”

“Oh, nothing important.” Bluestar got to her paws. Perhaps Spottedleaf might help, even if it was just to tell her not to be mouse-brained. She padded through the cool fern tunnel. Spottedleaf was shredding herbs in the grassy clearing, squinting in the half-light as she inspected the leaves under her paws.

“Have you eaten?” Bluestar asked.

“I’ll eat when I’ve finished this,” Spottedleaf promised. She didn’t look up from the leaves she was carefully ripping into strips and mixing into fragrant piles.

Bluestar sat down. “I saw a kittypet today,” she began.

“On our territory?” Spottedleaf asked absently.

“On a fence.” Would the medicine cat think she’d gone mad? “There was something about him that made me wonder if he would make a good warrior.”

Spottedleaf looked up, her eyes shining with surprise. “A kittypet?”

“His pelt was the color of flame.”

Spottedleaf blinked. “I understand.” She spoke gravely. “You think he might be the fire.”

Bluestar nodded.

“How will you know if you’re right?”

“I’ll ask Graypaw to stalk him for a while. See how he handles himself. Then I’ll decide whether he could really be a Clan cat.” Her paws began to prick with an excitement that she hadn’t felt for moons. “If he shows promise, I’ll invite him to join the Clan.”

Spottedleaf put down the herb she was holding and stepped forward until she was so close to Bluestar, her breath warmed the Clan leader’s ear. “He will pass every test you set for him. You will choose him, and you will never regret it. But don’t think this will be easy. You are about to lead the Clan along the hardest path it has ever known.”

She took a pace back, and the intensity in her gaze softened. “May StarClan light your path, always,” she whispered.

Bluestar felt her sister’s scent wreathe around her, mixed with the fragrance of herbs. “Oh, they do,” she whispered.

She pictured the bold ginger kittypet sitting at the border between his world and hers, and a purr rumbled deep in her throat.

You were right, Goosefeather. A fire will blaze through this forest after all.