Forest Of Secrets

Chapter 12

“No!” Graystripe yowled, launching himself after the drowning kit.

Fireheart lost sight of them. The kit left on the mat squealed desperately, trying to cling to the twigs as they were split apart by the current. With the last of his strength Fireheart drove himself forward, sank his teeth into the little creature’s scruff, and kicked out for dry ground.

Within moments he felt stones under his paws and managed to stand. Stone-limbed with weariness, he staggered out and dropped the black kit on the grass at the edge of the flood. Its eyes were closed; he was not sure if it was still alive.

Glancing downstream, he saw Graystripe splashing out of the shallows, with the gray kit gripped firmly in his teeth. He padded up to Fireheart and set it gently on the ground.

Fireheart nosed both kits. They were lying very still, but when Fireheart looked closer he could see the faint rise and fall of their flanks as they breathed. “Thank StarClan,” he muttered. He began to lick the black kit as he had seen the queens in the nursery do to their little ones, rasping his tongue against the lie of the fur to rouse the kit and warm it. Graystripe crouched beside him and did the same for the gray kit.

Soon the black kit twitched and coughed up a mouthful of river water. It took longer for the gray kit to respond, but at last it too coughed up water and opened its eyes.

“They’re alive!” exclaimed Graystripe, his voice filled with relief.

“Yes, but they won’t live long without their mother,” Fireheart pointed out. He sniffed the black kit carefully. The river water had washed off much of the Clan scent, but he could still detect a faint trace. “RiverClan,” he mewed, unsurprised. “We’ll have to take them home.”

Fireheart’s courage almost deserted him for good at the thought of crossing the swollen river. He had almost drowned rescuing the kits, and he felt exhausted. His limbs were cold and stiff, and his fur was soaked. He wanted nothing more than to creep into his own den and sleep for a moon.

Graystripe, still crouched over the gray kit, looked as if he felt the same. His thick gray fur was flattened against his body, and his amber eyes were wide with anxiety. “Do you think we can get across?” he meowed.

“We’ve got to, or the kits will die.” Forcing himself to his paws, Fireheart picked up the black kit again by its scruff and headed downstream. “Let’s see if we can cross by the stepping-stones, like you said.” Graystripe padded after him, carrying the gray kit through the wet grass at the edge of the floodwater.

When the river was at its usual level, the stepping-stones were an easy route across for RiverClan cats. The longest leap from rock to rock was no more than a tail-length, and RiverClan controlled the territory here on both sides of the river.

Now floodwater completely covered the stones. But where they had once broken the surface, a dead tree, its bark stripped away, lay across the river. Fireheart guessed that some of its branches had been caught on the submerged stepping-stones. “Thank StarClan!” he exclaimed. “We can use the tree to cross.” He adjusted his grip on the kit and waded out into the flood toward the splintered end of the tree trunk. The kit, seeing the churning water barely a mouse-length below its nose, began to mewl and struggle feebly.

“Keep still, both of you,” growled Graystripe gently, as he set down the gray kit for a moment to adjust his grip. “We’re going to find your mother.”

Fireheart wasn’t sure if his terrified kit was even old enough to understand, but at least it went limp again so it was easier to carry. He had to lift his head high to keep the tiny creature clear of the water as he floundered toward the tree. He reached it without needing to swim and sprang upward, clawing for a grip on the soft, rotting wood. Once he had pulled himself up, his main concern was keeping a pawhold on the smooth, slippery trunk. Gingerly placing each of his paws in a straight line, Fireheart padded toward the opposite bank with the river churning beneath him, sucking at the tree as if it wanted to sweep it, and its burden of cats, away downstream. Fireheart glanced back to see Graystripe following with the gray kit, his face creased with determination.

At the far end the trunk divided into a tangle of broken branches. Fireheart ducked down to squeeze through them, being careful not to let the kit’s fur catch on the splinters. It was harder to find a pawhold as the branches tapered, and he ran out of anything that might bear his weight when there was still a gap of a couple of fox-lengths separating him from the far side of the river. Fireheart took a deep breath, flexed his hindlegs, and leaped. His front paws hit the bank while his hind paws kicked madly in the rushing current. As water splashed up, the kit started to struggle again. Fireheart kept his teeth clenched in its neck fur as he sank his front claws into the soft earth and scrabbled upward until he stood safely on the bank. He lurched forward a few paces and set the kit down gently.

Glancing around, he saw Graystripe pulling himself out of the water a little way downstream. He lowered the gray kit to the ground and shook himself. “The river water tastes foul,” he spat.

“Look on the bright side,” Fireheart suggested. “At least it should disguise your scent. The RiverClan cats won’t know that you’re the warrior who’s been trespassing on their territory. If they ever found out—”

He broke off as three cats crashed out of the bushes just beyond Graystripe. Fireheart braced himself as he recognized Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, and the warriors Blackclaw and Stonefur. Forcing his tired legs to move, he picked up the black kit and padded along the bank to stand beside Graystripe. The gray warrior hauled himself to his paws, and the two cats set down their burdens and faced their enemies together.

Fireheart wondered if the RiverClan cats had overheard what he was saying to Graystripe. He knew that he and Graystripe were too exhausted to stand up to a patrol of strong, fresh warriors, and his head spun as he tried to summon enough energy for a fight into his frozen paws. But to his relief, the RiverClan cats halted a few tail-lengths away.

“What’s this?” growled Leopardfur. Her golden-spotted fur bristled, and her ears were flattened against her head.

Beside her, Blackclaw stood with his lips drawn back in a snarl. “Why are you trespassing on our territory?” he demanded.

“We’re not trespassing,” Fireheart meowed quietly. “We pulled two of your kits out of the river and wanted to bring them home.”

“Do you think we nearly drowned ourselves just for fun?” Graystripe blurted out.

Stonefur paced forward until he was close enough to sniff the two kits. “It’s true!” His blue eyes widened. “They’re Mistyfoot’s missing kits!”

Fireheart stiffened in amazement. He knew that Mistyfoot had recently had kits, but hadn’t realized that the kits they had rescued were hers. He was even more thankful now that they had been able to save the kits’ lives, but he knew they mustn’t let any of these cats know that Mistyfoot had friends in ThunderClan.

Leopardfur did not relax the fur on her shoulders. “How do we know you saved the kits?” she snarled. “You might have been trying to steal them.”

Fireheart stared at her. After risking their lives in the floodwater, he couldn’t believe that they were actually being accused of stealing the kits. “Don’t be such a mouse-brain!” he spat. “No cat from ThunderClan tried to steal your kits when we could walk across the river on the ice. Why do you think we’d try it now? We nearly drowned!”

Leopardfur looked thoughtful, but Blackclaw stalked up and thrust his head aggressively into Fireheart’s face. Fireheart snarled, ready to counter a blow.

“Blackclaw!” Leopardfur meowed sharply. “Back off! We’ll let these cats explain themselves to Crookedstar, and see if he believes them.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to protest, but left the words unspoken. They would have to go with the RiverClan cats; in their exhausted state he and Graystripe had no hope of winning a fight. At least Graystripe would be able to check on Silverstream. “All right,” Fireheart meowed. “I just hope your Clan leader can see the truth when it’s in front of his nose.”

Leopardfur led the way along the bank, while Blackclaw picked up one kit and stalked threateningly alongside Fireheart and Graystripe. Stonefur brought up the rear, carrying the other kit.

When they reached the island where the RiverClan cats had their camp, Fireheart saw that a wide channel of racing water separated it from the ridge of dry ground, wrenching at the overhanging boughs of the willow trees. No cats were visible through the reeds, and Fireheart could see silver water lapping among the bushes that concealed the camp.

Leopardfur paused, her eyes widening with alarm. “The water has risen since we left camp,” she meowed.

As she spoke, a yowl came from behind them at the top of the slope, where Fireheart and Graystripe had hidden to talk to Silverstream. “Leopardfur! Up here!”

Fireheart turned to see the RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, emerging from the shelter of the bushes. His pale tabby coat was soaked, fur sticking out in all directions, and his twisted jaw made him look as if he were mocking the patrol and their prisoners.

“What happened?” Leopardfur demanded as she reached her leader.

“The camp is flooded,” Crookedstar replied. His voice was flat with defeat. “We’ve had to move up here.”

As he spoke, two or three other cats emerged cautiously from the bushes. Fireheart noticed Graystripe brighten when he saw one of them was Silverstream.

“And what have you brought us?” Crookedstar went on. He narrowed his eyes at Fireheart and Graystripe. “ThunderClan spies? As if we didn’t have enough trouble!”

“They found Mistyfoot’s kits,” Leopardfur told him, nodding to Stonefur and Blackclaw to bring forward the kits. “They claim they pulled them out of the river.”

“I don’t believe a word of it!” spat Blackclaw, setting down the kit he carried. “You can’t trust a ThunderClan cat.”

At the mention of the kit, Silverstream had turned and disappeared rapidly under the bushes again. Crookedstar padded forward and sniffed the pathetic bundles. By now they had begun to recover from their ordeal and were trying to sit up, though they still looked completely waterlogged.

“Mistyfoot’s kits went missing when the camp flooded,” Crookedstar remarked, turning his cold green gaze on Fireheart and Graystripe. “How do you come to have them?”

Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe, exhaustion making him short-tempered. “We flew across the river,” he mewed sarcastically.

A loud yowling interrupted him. Mistyfoot broke out of the bushes and came racing over to them. “My kits! Where are my kits?” She crouched over the tiny scraps of fur, staring wildly around as if she thought the other cats would try to take them away from her. Then she began licking them furiously, trying to comfort both of them at once. Stonefur pressed up close against her and mewed comfortingly into her ear.

Silverstream followed more slowly and stood beside her father, Crookedstar, eyeing the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart was relieved to see her gaze pass with apparent indifference over Graystripe. She would not give them away, he was sure.

More cats emerged after her and gathered curiously around. Fireheart recognized Graypool, who gave no sign that she had ever seen him before, and Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat, who crouched beside Mistyfoot to examine the kits.

All of the RiverClan cats were wet through, and the fur clinging to their bodies showed they were skinnier than ever. Fireheart had always thought of RiverClan cats as plump and sleek, wellfed on fish from the river. That was until Silverstream told him that Twolegs had stayed by the river during greenleaf and stolen or scared away most of their prey. The Twolegs had left the forest now, during leaf-bare, but RiverClan had been unable to hunt when the river froze. And instead of bringing much-needed food, the thaw had driven them out of their camp completely.

In spite of his pang of pity, Fireheart could also see the unfriendliness in their eyes, the hostility in their flattened ears and twitching tail tips. Fireheart knew he and Graystripe would have to work hard to convince Crookedstar that they had really saved the kits.

The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. “Tell us what happened,” Crookedstar ordered.

Fireheart began at the point when he had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

“Since when have ThunderClan cats risked their lives for us?” Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Fireheart described how he had pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

Fireheart bit back an angry retort, and Crookedstar hissed at the warrior, “Quiet, Blackclaw! Let him speak. If he’s lying, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“He’s not lying.” Mistyfoot looked up from where she was still nuzzling her kits. “Why should ThunderClan steal kits when all the Clans are finding it hard to feed themselves?”

“Fireheart’s story makes sense,” Silverstream observed calmly. “We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again,” she explained to Fireheart. “When we came to move Mistyfoot’s kits, we could find only two of them. The other two were missing. The whole nursery floor had been washed away. They must have been swept along the river to where you found them.”

Crookedstar nodded slowly, and Fireheart realized that the hostility of the RiverClan cats was fading—all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the ThunderClan warriors with a snort of disgust.

“In that case, we’re grateful to you,” meowed Crookedstar, though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to a pair of ThunderClan cats.

“Yes,” mewed Mistyfoot. She looked up again, her eyes glowing softly with gratitude. “Without you, my kits would have died.”

Fireheart dipped his head in acknowledgment. Impulsively, he asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? If you can’t go back to your camp, and if prey’s scarce because of the flood—”

“We need no help from ThunderClan,” growled Crookedstar. “RiverClan cats can look after themselves.”

“Don’t be such a fool.” It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Fireheart felt a new surge of respect for her; he guessed that not many cats would dare to take that tone with Crookedstar. “You’re too proud for your own good,” the elder rasped. “How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? There are no fish to eat. The river’s practically poisoned; you know it is.”

“What?” Graystripe exclaimed; Fireheart was too shocked to say anything.

“It’s all the fault of the Twolegs,” Graypool explained to them. “Last newleaf, the river was clean and full of fish. Now it’s filthy with Twoleg rubbish from their camp.”

“And the fish are poisoned,” Mudfur added. “Cats who eat them fall ill. I’ve treated more cats for bellyache this leaf-bare than in all the time since I’ve been the medicine cat.”

Fireheart stared at Graystripe, and then back at the hungry RiverClan cats. Most of them couldn’t meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another Clan should know about their troubles. “Then let us help,” he urged them all. “We’ll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean.”

Even as he made the offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own Clan alone. Bluestar would be furious with him if she found out he was prepared to share ThunderClan’s precious prey like this. But Fireheart couldn’t bring himself to abandon another Clan in their need. Bluestar herself said our welfare depends on having four Clans in the forest, he reminded himself. Surely it’s the will of StarClan.

“Would you really do this for us?” asked Crookedstar slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Yes,” Fireheart meowed.

“And I’ll help too,” promised Graystripe, with a glance at Silverstream.

“Then the Clan thanks you,” grunted Crookedstar. “None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for ourselves again.” He turned and led the way back to the bushes. His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Fireheart and Graystripe as they went. Not all of them, Fireheart could see, trusted them or believed in their offer of help.

Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging her kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope. “Thank you both,” she murmured. “I won’t forget this.”

Fireheart and Graystripe were left alone as the RiverClan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slope again toward the river, Graystripe shook his head in disbelief. “Hunting for another Clan? We must be mad.”

“What else could we do?” Fireheart retorted. “Let them starve?”

“No! But we’ll have to be careful. We’ll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out.”

Or Tigerclaw, Fireheart added silently. He already suspects Graystripe and I have friends in RiverClan. And we could be about to prove him right.