Forest Of Secrets

Chapter 21

When Cinderpaw had finished tending to Fireheart’s wounds, he went to find Graystripe. His friend was hunched up inside the warriors’ den, his golden eyes troubled.

He looked up as Fireheart slipped between the branches. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know I should have been here. But I had to see Silverstream. I couldn’t get near her on the night of the Gathering.”

Fireheart sighed. For a moment, he had considered sharing his suspicions about Mistyfoot and Stonefur with his friend, but now he realized that Graystripe had more than enough worries of his own. “It’s okay, Graystripe. Any of us could have been away, patrolling or hunting. But if I were you, I’d stick around camp for the next few days, and make sure Tigerclaw sees you.”

Graystripe scraped absently at a piece of moss. Fireheart guessed he had already arranged to meet Silverstream again. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he meowed, deciding not to try to argue about this now. “About Brackenpaw.” Quickly he described how he and the apprentice had gone out early, and how Brackenpaw had scented the invading band of cats. “He fought well, too,” Fireheart remarked. “I think it’s time he became a warrior.”

Graystripe let out a purr of agreement. “Does Bluestar know this?”

“Not yet. You’re Brackenpaw’s mentor. You ought to recommend him.”

“But I wasn’t there.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Fireheart gave his friend a nudge. “Come on, let’s go and talk to Bluestar now.”

The ThunderClan leader and most of the warriors were still in the clearing, while Yellowfang and Cinderpaw distributed cobwebs to stop bleeding and poppy seeds for pain. Brindleface had brought out her kits to see what was going on, and Cloudkit was frisking around, pestering one warrior after another with questions about the battle. Brackenpaw was there, too, giving himself a thorough wash; Fireheart was relieved that he didn’t seem too badly hurt.

The two warriors went up to Bluestar, and Fireheart once more told the story of Brackenpaw’s skill at scenting their enemies, and his bravery in the battle. “It’s thanks to Brackenpaw that we had any warning at all,” he meowed.

“We think he should be made a warrior,” Graystripe added.

Bluestar nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. Brackenpaw showed himself worthy today.” She got up, paced into the middle of her cats, and raised her voice. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Goldenflower appeared at once from the nursery, followed by Speckletail, and Smallear limped slowly from the elders’ den. When they had gathered around Bluestar, she meowed, “Brackenpaw, come here.”

Brackenpaw looked up, surprised, and padded nervously over to Bluestar. Fireheart could see he had not the least idea what was coming.

“Brackenpaw, it was you who warned the Clan today, and you fought bravely in the battle,” Bluestar meowed. “It is time for you to become a warrior.”

The apprentice’s mouth fell open. His eyes blazed with excitement as Bluestar pronounced the ritual words.

“I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” She fixed her blue gaze on Brackenpaw. “Brackenpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Brackenpaw trembled slightly, but his voice was steady as he meowed, “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Brackenpaw, from this moment you will be known as Brackenfur. StarClan honors your forethought and your determination, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

When she finished speaking Bluestar stepped up to Brackenfur and rested her muzzle on his bowed head. Brackenfur licked her shoulder respectfully, then walked over to stand between Fireheart and Graystripe.

The watching cats raised their voices to chant the new warrior’s name. “Brackenfur! Brackenfur!” They began to press around him, congratulating him and wishing him well. His mother, Frostfur, pressed her muzzle against his flank, while her dark blue eyes glowed with delight.

“Tonight you have to keep vigil alone,” mewed Sandstorm, giving Brackenfur a friendly nudge. “Thank StarClan! The rest of us can have a night off!”

Brackenfur was too overwhelmed to answer properly, but he broke into a deep, contented purr. “Th-Thank you, Graystripe,” he stammered. “And you, Fireheart.”

Fireheart felt a rush of pride to see the cat made a warrior at last, almost as though Brackenfur had been his own apprentice. It made up, a little, for knowing that he would never go through this with Cinderpaw. StarClan had a different fate for her. Now that the ceremony was done, weariness swept over Fireheart. He was about to go back to the warriors’ den when he caught sight of Cinderpaw limping rapidly over to her brother.

“Congratulations, Brackenfur!” she mewed, her blue eyes sparkling as she covered his ears with licks.

Brackenfur’s purring faltered and his eyes looked troubled. “You should have been with me,” he murmured, gently nosing her injured leg.

“No, I’m fine as I am,” Cinderpaw insisted. “You’ll have to be a warrior for both of us. And I’ll have to settle for being the greatest medicine cat this forest has ever seen!”

Fireheart gazed at the dark gray she-cat with admiration. He knew that Cinderpaw really was happy to be Yellowfang’s apprentice. She would be a fine medicine cat. But she would have been a fine warrior too. It took a special spirit, he thought, not to begrudge her brother’s triumph. As always, the sight of Cinderpaw’s injury reminded Fireheart of Tigerclaw. Fireheart was so sure the deputy had caused her accident, and had also tried to drown him just recently. Yet today Tigerclaw had fought with the strength of StarClan. Without him, they could have lost the battle. If you prove his treachery, Fireheart asked himself, who will defend ThunderClan then?

After the raid, Fireheart was relieved to see Graystripe keeping his promise to stay around the camp, patrolling or hunting or helping Yellowfang and Cinderpaw to replenish their supplies. Tigerclaw said nothing, but Fireheart hoped he had noticed.

However, on the third morning Fireheart was woken by movement in the nest beside him, and opened his eyes in time to see Graystripe sliding out of the den. “Graystripe?” he muttered, but his friend vanished without replying.

Careful not to disturb Sandstorm, who was sleeping on his other side, Fireheart got up and slipped out between the branches. He emerged blinking into the clearing and saw Graystripe disappearing into the gorse tunnel. He also saw Darkstripe, crouched beside the pile of fresh-kill, looking up with a vole dangling from his jaws. His eyes were fixed on the tunnel entrance.

Fireheart felt a heavy weight like a cold stone in his belly. If Darkstripe had seen Graystripe leave, that meant Tigerclaw would know about it before very long. And then the deputy would want to know exactly where Graystripe had been. He might even follow him, and catch him with Silverstream.

Almost unconsciously, Fireheart started forward. He forced himself to walk briskly, but without any special urgency. As he passed the heap of fresh-kill, he called out, “Morning, Darkstripe! We’re just off to hunt. It’s the early cat that catches the prey, you know!” Without waiting for Darkstripe’s response, he entered the tunnel. Once he had left the clearing, he put on speed, racing to the top of the ravine. Graystripe was out of sight already but his scent was strong, leading unwaveringly to the Sunningrocks.

But they agreed only to meet at Fourtrees, he thought.

Fireheart pelted along, ignoring the tempting sounds and smells of prey in the undergrowth. He had hoped to catch Graystripe and divert him before his friend reached Silverstream, just in case Tigerclaw was already out in the forest, but by the time he came within sight of the Sunningrocks he had seen no sign of him. Fireheart paused on the edge of the trees and drank in the scented air. Graystripe was close by, he was sure, and he could scent Silverstream as well, but the scents of both cats were overlaid with something that set Fireheart’s fur bristling—the smell of blood!

At that moment, he heard a thin, eerie wailing from the rocks ahead, the unmistakable sound of a cat in deep distress. “Graystripe!” he yowled. He shot forward and hurled himself up the sloping surface of the nearest rock. What he saw from the top brought him to a skidding stop.

Below, in a deep gully between this rock and the next, Silverstream lay on her side. As Fireheart stared, appalled, a strong spasm traveled down the length of her body, and her legs twitched. She let out another chilling wail.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart gasped.

Graystripe was crouched beside Silverstream, frantically licking her heaving flank. He looked up at the sound of Fireheart’s voice. “Fireheart! It’s the kits—the kits are coming, and it’s all going wrong. Fetch Yellowfang!”

“But—” Fireheart bit off his protest. His paws were already moving, carrying him down from the rock and back across the stretch of open ground toward the trees.

Fireheart ran as he had never run before, but even so, a small, cold part of his mind was telling him this was the end. Every cat in the Clans would find out about Graystripe and Silverstream now. What would Bluestar and Crookedstar do to them when it was all over?

Almost before he knew it he was back at the camp. He hurled himself down the ravine, almost bowling Cinderpaw over at the entrance to the tunnel. She reared back with a meow of protest, scattering the herbs she had gathered. “Fireheart, what—”

“Where’s Yellowfang?” Fireheart panted.

“Yellowfang?” Cinderpaw suddenly grew more serious as she sensed Fireheart’s desperation. “She went over to Snakerocks. It’s the best place to find yarrow.”

Fireheart gathered himself to go on running, then paused, frustrated. It would take too much time to fetch Yellowfang from Snakerocks. Silverstream needed help now!

“What’s the matter?” mewed Cinderpaw.

“There’s a cat—Silverstream—by the Sunningrocks. She’s having her kits, but something’s gone wrong.”

“Oh, StarClan help her!” exclaimed Cinderpaw. “I’ll come. Wait there—I need to fetch supplies.” She vanished into the mouth of the gorse tunnel. Fireheart waited, scrabbling his paws with impatience, until at last he saw movement in the tunnel again. But it wasn’t Cinderpaw; it was Brackenfur.

“Cinderpaw sent me for Yellowfang,” he called as he bounded past Fireheart, heading up the ravine.

At last Cinderpaw reappeared. Her jaws were clamped on a leaf-wrapped bundle of herbs. She flicked her tail at Fireheart as she approached, signaling that he should lead the way.

Every step of that journey was torment for Fireheart. Cinderpaw did her best, but her damaged leg slowed her down. Time seemed to stretch out. With a pang of horror, Fireheart remembered his dream, of a faceless silver queen who faded away, leaving her kits crying helplessly in the dark. Had that been Silverstream?

As soon as the Sunningrocks came in sight, Fireheart bounded ahead of Cinderpaw. When he reached the foot of the rock, he saw another cat crouched on the top, looking down into the gully where Graystripe and Silverstream were. Cold paws clutched Fireheart’s heart. There was no mistaking Tigerclaw’s massive body and dark coat. Darkstripe must have notified him, and the deputy had followed Graystripe’s scent. Fireheart had passed him on his dash back to camp without realizing it.

“Fireheart,” growled Tigerclaw, turning his head as Fireheart scrambled up the rock. “What do you know about this?”

Fireheart looked down into the gully. Silverstream still lay on her side, but the powerful rippling down her body had ebbed away into weak spasms. She had stopped wailing now; Fireheart guessed she was too exhausted. Graystripe huddled close to her. He made a low, crooning noise deep in his chest, and his yellow eyes were fixed on the she-cat’s face. Fireheart didn’t think that either of them had realized Tigerclaw was there.

Before Fireheart could answer the deputy’s question, Cinderpaw came skidding around the bottom of the rock and squeezed along the gully to Silverstream’s side. She dropped the bundle of herbs and stooped to sniff the silver-gray queen.

“Fireheart!” she called a moment later. “Get down here! I need you!”

Ignoring a furious hiss from Tigerclaw, Fireheart leaped down into the gully, scraping his claws painfully on the sheer rock. As his paws touched the ground, Cinderpaw came to meet him. She was carrying a very small kit with its eyes closed and ears flat to its head, and dark gray fur plastered to its body.

“Is it dead?” Fireheart whispered.

“No!” Cinderpaw set down the kit and patted it toward him. “Lick, Fireheart! Make it warm, get its blood flowing.”

As soon as she had finished speaking she turned in the narrow space and went back to Silverstream. Her body blocked Fireheart’s view of what was happening, but he heard the apprentice medicine cat begin to meow reassuringly, and an anxious question from Graystripe.

Fireheart bent over the kit and rasped his tongue over its tiny body. For a long time it didn’t respond, and he began to think Cinderpaw had been wrong, and the kit was dead after all. Then he felt a tiny shiver run through it and it opened its jaws in a soundless mew. “It’s alive!” he gasped.

“Told you,” Cinderpaw called to him. “Keep licking. There’s another one coming, any moment now. That’s right, Silverstream…you’re doing fine.”

Tigerclaw had come down from the rock and was standing in the mouth of the gully with a look of thunder on his face. “That’s a RiverClan cat,” he hissed. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?”

Before any cat had time to reply, Cinderpaw let out a shout of triumph. “You’ve done it, Silverstream!” Moments later she turned with a second tiny kit in her jaws, and set it down in front of Tigerclaw. “Here. Lick.”

Tigerclaw glared at her. “I’m not a medicine cat.”

Cinderpaw’s blue eyes blazed as she rounded on the deputy. “You’ve got a tongue, haven’t you? Lick, you useless lump of fur. Do you want the kit to die?”

Fireheart flinched, half expecting Tigerclaw to hurl himself at her and slash her open with his powerful claws. Instead, the dark tabby bowed his huge head and began to lick the second kit.

At once Cinderpaw turned back to Silverstream. Fireheart heard her meow, “You need to swallow this herb. Here, Graystripe, make her eat as much as she can. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

Fireheart paused for a moment in his own vigorous licking. His kit was breathing evenly now, and it seemed to be out of danger. He wished he knew what was happening in the gully ahead of him; he heard Cinderpaw growl, “Hold on, Silverstream,” and a louder, panicky meow from Graystripe: “Silverstream!”

At the sound of his friend’s distress, Fireheart could not stay back any longer. Leaving the kit, he pushed forward until he could crouch beside Cinderpaw. He was in time to see Silverstream raise her head and feebly lick Graystripe’s face. “Good-bye, Graystripe,” she whispered. “I love you. Take care of our kits.”

Then the silver tabby’s body gave a massive shudder. Her head fell back, her paws jerked, and she was still.

“Silverstream!” whispered Cinderpaw.

“No, Silverstream, no.” Graystripe’s mew was very soft. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” He bent over the limp body, nuzzling her gently. She did not move.

“Silverstream!” Graystripe reared up and flung back his head. His wails of grief split the quiet air. “Silverstream!”

Cinderpaw crouched over the body for a few moments more, nudging at Silverstream’s fur, but at last she admitted defeat. She sat up and stared ahead, her blue eyes bleak and cold.

Fireheart got up and padded over to her. “Cinderpaw, the kits are safe,” he murmured.

The look she gave him made his heart freeze. “But their mother is dead. I lost her, Fireheart.”

The rocks were still echoing to Graystripe’s dreadful wailing. Tigerclaw appeared, scrambling past the other cats, and reached out a massive paw to cuff the gray warrior behind the ear. “Stop that moaning.”

Graystripe fell silent, more out of shock and exhaustion, Fireheart thought, than obedience to the deputy’s order.

Tigerclaw glared around at all of them. “Now will some cat tell me what’s going on? Graystripe, do you know this RiverClan cat?”

Graystripe looked up. His eyes had gone dull and cold, like pebbles. “I loved her,” he whispered.

“What—these are your kits?” Tigerclaw seemed stunned.

“Mine and Silverstream’s.” A faint spark of defiance kindled in Graystripe. “I know what you’ll say, Tigerclaw. Don’t bother. I don’t care.” He turned back to Silverstream, pressing his nose against her fur and murmuring softly to her.

Meanwhile, Cinderpaw had roused herself enough to examine the two kits. “I think they’ll live,” she mewed, though to Fireheart she sounded less certain than before. “We need to get them back to camp, to find a queen to suckle them.”

Tigerclaw spun around to face her. “Are you mad? Why should ThunderClan raise them? They’re half-breeds. No Clan will want them.”

Cinderpaw ignored him. “Fireheart, you take that one,” she ordered. “I’ll carry the other.”

Fireheart twitched his whiskers in agreement, but before he picked up the kit he walked over to Graystripe and pressed his body against his friend’s broad gray shoulder. “Do you want to come with us?”

Graystripe shook his head. “I have to stay here and bury her,” he whispered. “Here, between RiverClan and ThunderClan. After this, not even her own Clan will want to mourn her.”

Fireheart felt his heart break for his friend, but there was nothing more he could do to help. “I’ll come back soon,” he promised. More softly, though he was past caring if Tigerclaw heard him or not, he added, “I will mourn her with you, Graystripe. She was brave, and I know she loved you.”

His friend did not respond. Fireheart picked up the kit with his teeth, and left Graystripe beside the cat he had loved more than his Clan, more than honor, more than life itself.