Crowfeather's Trial

Chapter 10

“Tonight, we will sit vigil for Nightcloud,” Onestar announced. “We will honor her as a brave warrior and a valued member of our Clan.”

As soon as the sun had risen on the day after Crowfeather’s discovery of the place where Nightcloud had died, Onestar had called a Clan meeting. He hadn’t been thrilled to learn that Crowfeather had sneaked onto ThunderClan territory, but his anger had softened when he’d learned of Nightcloud’s death. She was a beloved WindClan warrior, and the leader was clearly sad to lose her. The loss felt even worse coming on the paws of so many Great Battle deaths.

Every cat was subdued as they gathered around, and Crowfeather’s paws itched with restlessness.

I want to be out there doing something, not standing here listening to our Clan leader.

As saddened as he was by Nightcloud’s death, knowing that the stoats were still in the tunnels was worrying Crowfeather. He couldn’t forget Kestrelflight’s vision of the storm, suggesting that WindClan might almost be destroyed if they failed to deal with the threat. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how the wind hadn’t been enough to stop the flood. Does that mean we’ll have to involve other Clans? Is Onestar going about this all wrong?

At dawn that morning, Breezepelt had tried to leave the camp, intent on taking revenge by entering the tunnels alone and killing every stoat he found there. It had taken five cats to hold him back, and finally Heathertail had convinced him to wait. She’d told him they would take on the stoats, but to do that, they needed him at his full strength. He needed rest. He argued for a while, but eventually he gave in, and now Heathertail watched over him as he slept.

But what happens when he wakes up? Crowfeather asked himself gloomily. How do I help him deal with his grief, without running foolishly into an ambush of stoats? He had no idea. He hadn’t even spoken to Breezepelt since he announced that Nightcloud was dead, and he doubted that his son wanted his support.

“Now there’s one more task for me to do,” Onestar continued. “Hootpaw, Nightcloud was a good mentor to you, but she is gone, and you will need another cat to guide you through the rest of your apprenticeship. Gorsetail, you are a loyal and intelligent cat. I know you will pass these qualities on to Hootpaw.”

A look of pleased surprise spread over Gorsetail’s face. “I’ll do my best, Onestar,” she responded.

Crowfeather blinked at the gray-and-white she-cat, not sure how he felt about this. On the one paw, he was relieved to be back to one apprentice — training Featherpaw would be easier now. But on the other, Crowfeather couldn’t forget that Gorsetail had openly mocked Breezepelt and said he couldn’t be trusted. It seemed wrong, in a way, for her to take over Nightcloud’s apprentice.

Hootpaw was standing in the circle of cats, his head and tail drooping in dejection. Crowfeather knew he was grieving for his lost mentor. But when Onestar mentioned his name he looked up and gave his pelt a shake. As he padded over to Gorsetail and touched noses with her, he was clearly determined to do his best.

Even though training two apprentices had been a challenge, Crowfeather liked the sturdy, enthusiastic young apprentice. Gorsetail isn’t my favorite cat, but I’m sure she’ll try to be a good mentor for Hootpaw. And I’ll keep an eye on him, too — it’s the least I can do for Nightcloud.

“Harespring, it’s time to send out hunting patrols,” Onestar meowed, angling his ears toward his deputy. “But no cat is to hunt near the tunnels for the time being.”

A murmur of disapproval greeted the Clan leader’s announcement. Crouchfoot called out, “Are we just leaving that part of our territory to the stoats?”

“Certainly not,” Onestar responded with an irritated flick of his tail. “But we’ve lost Nightcloud, and some of our warriors are still bearing wounds from the last skirmish. I intend to wait until every cat is healed and strong again and we’ve had time to figure out what to do next. Meanwhile, I don’t want the creatures provoked. If they think that cats aren’t coming back to fight them, they might get lazy and careless — which means they will be easier for us to deal with.”

Crouchfoot shrugged and muttered something inaudible but didn’t protest again.

Onestar declared that the meeting was over, and Harespring began to organize the hunting patrols.

“Please, Harespring, can Hootpaw and I hunt together?” Featherpaw asked as the deputy padded over toward her and Crowfeather, who gave his apprentice a stern look. “That’s not for you to decide,” he scolded.

Featherpaw didn’t seem bothered by his rebuke; she kept a hopeful gaze fixed on Harespring.

“I don’t see why not,” Harespring mewed kindly. “I’ll go and tell Gorsetail, and find a couple of other cats to go with you.”

Crowfeather was just about to tell Featherpaw that an apprentice’s job was to do as she was told and keep her mouth shut, but he heard a low-voiced murmur from behind him.

“I still think it’s really suspicious, how Nightcloud went missing in the tunnels. I mean, no cat was there to see what happened… Well, no cat except Breezepelt.”

Crowfeather felt his muscles tense and every hair on his pelt start to rise. He had recognized Weaselfur’s voice, and he flicked an ear back to hear more clearly.

“Yeah, all that yowling and wailing this morning.” That was Leaftail’s voice. “It felt like he was just pretending. That’s suspicious, all right!”

Shifting slightly, Crowfeather managed to steal a glance at the two cats without letting them see that he could overhear them. Weaselfur and Leaftail were standing with their heads together, surrounded by a few of their Clanmates, who were waiting to be assigned to a patrol.

“Why is Breezepelt so sure Nightcloud is even dead?” Weaselfur continued. “After all, we only have Breezepelt’s word for it, and he was one of the cats who fought for the Dark Forest. Maybe he’s sure because he killed her, and he’s beside himself with guilt. How much can we trust him, or any of the Dark Forest cats?”

Is he serious? How many times do I have to say it — Breezepelt would never hurt Nightcloud! It was all Crowfeather could do not to leap out at Weaselfur and confront him, but he forced himself to stand still and listen to what else the ginger tom might have to say.

“Oh, come on, now,” Emberfoot protested loudly at Weaselfur’s accusation.

“Ridiculous,” Sedgewhisker agreed. “Hasn’t Breezepelt been punished enough, losing his mother? Must you now make these silly accusations?” When the other cats ignored them, the two of them turned away and padded off.

Leaftail watched them go, then nodded in agreement with Weaselfur. “I don’t know why Onestar doesn’t just drive out the cats who trained with the Dark Forest. Wouldn’t that be the wise thing to do? Better safe than sorry.”

Crowfeather slid out his claws, digging them into the ground. Why are these cats turning against Breezepelt? He’s just lost his mother! And they must know that he would never have hurt her. Whatever problems Breezepelt has had with his Clanmates, he has always loved Nightcloud.

Guilt gripped deep inside Crowfeather when he thought about his own recent distrust of his son. It seemed as mouse-brained now as these theories that Breezepelt had hurt Nightcloud. He foresaw, too, that more cats turning against Breezepelt could mean trouble for the entire Clan. If Onestar defended him, as Crowfeather expected, cats would end up taking sides, which meant that soon there would be a split in the Clan that would be almost impossible to repair.

“I agree. Onestar should just exile the Dark Forest cats. I mean, I know they swore an oath of loyalty, but they’ve broken oaths before. Why take the chance and keep them around?”

Crowfeather started at the sound of Featherpaw’s voice just behind him. He hadn’t realized that she had been close enough to overhear what Weaselfur and Leaftail had been saying. He was shocked that the rumors were spreading among the impressionable apprentices; it was bad enough that the warriors were saying such things.

Before Crowfeather could speak, the reply came from Gorsetail, who padded up with Hootpaw at her side. “Because we are one Clan,” she growled, “and we forgive our Clanmates — even when they’ve made terrible mistakes. Now let’s get on with this hunt. Larkwing is going to join us, too.”

Crowfeather shot a grateful look at Gorsetail as together they chivvied the apprentices away from Weaselfur and Leaftail and up the slope to the edge of the camp, where Larkwing was waiting. He was glad to see that Gorsetail had chosen her; it seemed as if the gray-and-white she-cat had changed her mind about the Dark Forest cats — or most of them, at least. Maybe the responsibility of being a mentor again would do her good.

Hootpaw and Featherpaw were padding along side by side. Crowfeather could see their fur bristling with excitement at the thought of hunting, and was glad that Hootpaw had something to distract him from missing his mentor.

But it won’t last long, for either of us, he thought sadly. Tonight they would sit vigil for Nightcloud, and there would be nothing left to do but face their grief.

The sun had gone down, though a few streaks of daylight still stained the sky. Above the moor the first warriors of StarClan had begun to appear. Crowfeather raised his head and gazed up at them.

Are you looking down at us, Nightcloud? Or are you still searching for the path that leads to StarClan?

Cats padded past him where he stood at the edge of the warriors’ den, making for the center of the camp. Onestar was already there, waiting to begin the vigil for Nightcloud.

Crowfeather glanced toward the dark shape of Breezepelt curled up in his nest. To Crowfeather’s relief he hadn’t made another attempt to head for the tunnels to attack the stoats. Crowfeather felt that he should try to talk to him, but he didn’t know how.

Hesitantly, Crowfeather slipped between the empty nests of other warriors until he reached Breezepelt’s side. His son was awake, but he didn’t get up as Crowfeather approached, only looked up at him with dull, incurious eyes.

“Do you want to walk over to the vigil with me?” Crowfeather asked, half expecting Breezepelt to snap at him and say he didn’t need an escort as if he was an apprentice.

But Breezepelt’s actual response surprised his father even more. “No. I don’t need an escort, because I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

Breezepelt’s claws extended briefly, and he growled through clenched teeth. “None of these cats trust me.” His voice was bitter. “I’ve heard them whispering about what I might have done to Nightcloud.”

So the rumors have reached Breezepelt, Crowfeather thought, swallowing his fury as if it were a tough piece of fresh-kill.

“Not every cat,” he meowed, remembering that several of his Clanmates had protested at Weaselfur’s accusations. “Heathertail stood up for you.”

A pleased, grateful expression flickered across Breezepelt’s face. “She did? Really?”

“Really. And I know it’s hard to hear your Clanmates spread rumors, Breezepelt, but the best thing you can do is hold your head high. You and I both know you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Breezepelt blinked up at him, as if he was surprised at his father’s sympathy and support. For a moment Crowfeather thought he might rise to his paws and accompany him to the vigil. Then Breezepelt let out a long sigh. “I’m still not going. I just… can’t.”

“Okay. I understand,” Crowfeather responded, though he wasn’t sure he really did. And a small part of him worried that Breezepelt’s absence would give more fuel for gossip. Cats like Weaselfur would assume the worst: that Breezepelt wouldn’t go to Nightcloud’s vigil because of guilt over her death.

Well, so be it. Those flea-pelts can think what they want. I won’t force Breezepelt if he doesn’t feel ready to face the Clan and the vigil. The Clan will just have to get over it.

“I’ll speak for you,” Crowfeather continued to Breezepelt. “I’ll tell every cat how much you loved her — and what a good mother she was to you.”

“Thank you,” Breezepelt mewed. He closed his eyes, laid his head on his paws, and wrapped his tail over his nose as if he was trying to shut out the world.

Crowfeather briefly touched his nose to Breezepelt’s forehead, then turned and headed for the center of the camp, where his Clanmates were already gathered in a ragged circle around Onestar. The empty space beside the Clan leader, where Nightcloud’s body should have lain, was like a yawning gap at the heart of the Clan.

Onestar dipped his head solemnly to Crowfeather as he took his place, acknowledging his arrival. Crowfeather caught some furtive looks from the other cats, and he could hear them whispering among themselves. Some of them seemed angry, while others simply looked wary, as if they found it hard to meet his gaze. He realized they had been waiting for him to arrive before they could begin.

Well, tough. Checking on Breezepelt was important.

For a moment Onestar still hesitated, perhaps expecting Breezepelt to arrive. He shot a questioning look at Crowfeather, as if asking whether they should wait. Crowfeather shook his head, trying not to let his frustration and disappointment show.

Onestar took a breath and began to speak. “Nightcloud was a strong warrior, and an important part of WindClan,” he meowed. “She will be truly missed by every cat.”

That’s true, Crowfeather thought. He knew he missed Nightcloud as the mother of his son, and he was worried about how her death was affecting Breezepelt. But now he realized that he felt more than that. He would miss Nightcloud as a friend, too. He knew he hadn’t treated her well when she was alive, but he had always thought he would have the chance to work it out later.

I guess it’s too late for that now.

Crowfeather listened in silence while other cats spoke about Nightcloud and how much she meant to them all.

“She’s one of the bravest cats in the Clan.”

“And a great hunter. No rabbit can — I mean could — outrun her!”

Crowfeather noticed that some of them were finding it hard to refer to her as if she was really gone. They’re having trouble paying tribute to her heroic death when no cat knows exactly how she died.

“She showed her courage when she went into the tunnels to attack the stoats,” Crouchfoot declared. “And when she was abandoned there—”

Abandoned?

“Hold on. Stop,” Crowfeather interrupted. Were some of his Clanmates really about to use the vigil to attack Breezepelt? He wouldn’t have it. He hadn’t planned to challenge any cat at Nightcloud’s vigil, but now that Crouchfoot had brought it up, he couldn’t just keep silent. That would make it seem as if he agreed. It’s time to bring this into the open — especially now, while Breezepelt isn’t here.

“Are you accusing Breezepelt of something?” he demanded.

“If we are, we have good reason,” Crouchfoot replied. “Why would Breezepelt leave the tunnel without his mother? How could he have left her behind?”

“Yes, no warrior would do that,” Leaftail added. “Unless Breezepelt had something to do with her disappearance.”

“That’s enough!” Onestar’s voice rang out commandingly and his eyes were glittering with anger. “I have told all of you, many times, that I trust Breezepelt, but you choose to question my decision — and at a vigil, of all places?”

Murmurs of disagreement rose from some of the warriors. Crowfeather felt a prickle of uneasiness beneath his pelt. He appreciated that his leader was supporting Breezepelt, but would Onestar’s trust end in splitting the Clan?

He remembered, again, how the wind in the medicine cat’s vision hadn’t been enough to drive back the flood. Maybe Kestrelflight’s vision was a sign of a threat from within the Clan.

But Crowfeather had no time to think that through now. “All of you flea-brains are wrong!” he meowed, turning on his accusing Clanmates. “Breezepelt can be prickly, and I’ve had my problems with him, too, but I’ve never questioned his love for his mother. When she and I argued, Breezepelt always took her side. He supported her in any way he could. The two of them always took care of each other. He would never hurt Nightcloud,” he asserted.

As he spoke, he realized that Onestar was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and approval. Fine, he thought. You told me to support Breezepelt, and now you’ve got what you wanted.

“Then why isn’t Breezepelt here?” Weaselfur challenged him.

“Because he’s grieving, you mouse-brain!” Crowfeather snapped. “Think about it. Because he thinks he has no support from the cats in this Clan, and he’s right — you’re all accusing him of things he would never do.”

“Not all of us!” Heathertail called out. “I agree that Breezepelt would never hurt his mother — or any WindClan cat. He’s a protector — he saved me when the stoats attacked me in the tunnels. I’ve seen how hurt he is about what happened to Nightcloud. You should all be ashamed of yourselves for spreading these rabbit-brained ideas!”

She glared at Crouchfoot as she spoke, and Crouchfoot let out a snarl in return, his shoulder fur bristling up. “You only say that because you like him!” he cried. “And Crowfeather is his father. Of course you don’t want to see him as a bad cat — but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bad!” Several other cats let out yowls of agreement.

Onestar raised his tail for silence. “Enough! We need to remember,” he began, “that whatever happened in the past, we are all WindClan cats now. Our unity is more important than anything else. I have forgiven Breezepelt for his part in the Great Battle, and I don’t want to hear another word of accusation against him. This is a vigil, and we are here to honor one of our own. It is not a time for arguing.”

Every cat — even Weaselfur and Leaftail — seemed chastened by their leader’s words. An awkward silence followed, most cats staring at the ground or their own paws. Gradually the outward signs of hostility faded, but Crowfeather could see that beneath the surface the tension was still there.

Suddenly he was glad that Breezepelt hadn’t attended the vigil. Even if the cats hadn’t accused him to his face, he would have felt their distrust and ill will in every hair on his pelt. He’s right to feel as though he doesn’t belong, Crowfeather thought. I don’t know what it would take to prove his loyalty to some of these cats. Maybe it isn’t even possible.

As the time for him to speak drew closer, Crowfeather struggled to find the right words. How do I honor Nightcloud? Perhaps these cats suspect my motives as well, he thought. They’re all watching to see if I’ll mourn the death of a mate I never truly loved, or defend a son I barely know.

But when Crowfeather’s turn came, the words were there. “We will miss Nightcloud,” he mewed simply, “and Breezepelt will always love her.”