Forest Of Secrets

Chapter 23

“Come,” Bluestar ordered. She began to walk slowly across the camp toward her den, leaving Fireheart with no choice but to follow. Once inside, she told him to sit down, and settled herself on her bedding.

“How much do you know?” she asked Fireheart, her blue eyes searching his.

“Only that Oakheart once brought two ThunderClan kits to RiverClan,” Fireheart admitted. “He told Graypool—that’s the queen who suckled them—that he didn’t know where they had come from.”

Bluestar nodded, her gaze softening. “I knew Oakheart would stay loyal to me,” she murmured. She raised her head. “He was the kits’ father,” she added. “Did you guess that much?”

Fireheart shook his head. But it made sense, then, that Oakheart had been so desperate for Graypool to care for the helpless kits. “What exactly happened to your kits?” he demanded, curiosity making him unguarded. “Oakheart didn’t steal them, did he?”

The Clan leader’s ears flicked impatiently. “Of course not.” Her eyes met Fireheart’s, suddenly clouded with a pain he could not begin to imagine. “No, he didn’t steal them. I gave them away.”

Fireheart stared in disbelief. There was nothing he could do but wait for the she-cat to explain.

“My warrior name was Bluefur,” she began. “Like you, I wanted nothing more than to serve my Clan. Oakheart and I met at a Gathering early one leaf-bare, when we were still young and foolish. We were not mates for long. When I discovered I was to have kits, I intended to bear them for ThunderClan. No cat asked me who the father was—if a queen does not wish to tell, that is her choice.”

“But then…?” Fireheart prompted.

Bluestar’s eyes were fixed on a point far away, as if she were staring into the distant past. “Then our Clan deputy, Tawnyspots, decided to retire. I knew I had a good chance of being chosen to take his place. Our medicine cat had already told me that StarClan held a great destiny for me. But I also knew the Clan would never take a queen nursing kits as deputy.”

“So you gave them away?” Fireheart could not keep the note of disbelief out of his voice. “Couldn’t you have waited until they had left their nursery? Surely you could have been made deputy once the kits were old enough to care for themselves.”

“It wasn’t an easy decision,” Bluestar told him, her voice rough with pain. “That was a bitter leaf-bare. The Clan was half-starved and I had barely enough milk to feed my kits. I knew that in RiverClan they would be well cared for. In those days the river was full of fish, and RiverClan cats never went hungry.”

“But to lose them…” Fireheart blinked at the sharpness of pain he felt in sympathy.

“Fireheart, I don’t need you to tell me how difficult my choice was. I lay awake for many nights, deciding what to do. What was best for the kits…what was best for me…and what was best for the Clan.”

“There must have been other warriors ready to be deputy?” Fireheart was still struggling to accept that Bluestar had been so ambitious that she would have given away her own kits.

Bluestar jerked her chin up defiantly. “Oh, yes. There was Thistleclaw. He was a fine warrior, strong and brave. But his answer to every problem was to fight. Should I have watched him be made deputy, and then leader, and let him force the Clan into unnecessary wars?” She shook her head sadly. “He died as he lived, Fireheart, a few seasons before you came to join us, attacking a RiverClan patrol on the border. Wild and arrogant to the last. I couldn’t stand by and let him destroy my Clan.”

“Did you give the kits to Oakheart yourself?”

“Yes. I spoke to him at a Gathering, and he agreed to take them. So one night I crept out of the camp and took them to the Sunningrocks. Oakheart was waiting, and he took two of them across the river.”

“Two of them?” Fireheart was startled. “You mean there were more than two?”

“There were three.” Bluestar bowed her head; her mew was scarcely audible. “The third kit was too weak to cope with the journey. He died with me, by the river.”

“What did you tell the rest of the Clan?” Fireheart thought back to the Gathering, when Patchpelt had said only that Bluestar had “lost” her kits.

“I…I made it look as if they had been taken from the nursery by a fox or a badger. I tore a hole in the nursery wall just before I left, and when I came back, I said that I had been hunting and had left my kits sleeping safely.” Her whole body trembled, and Fireheart could tell that confessing to this lie was causing Bluestar more pain than losing a life.

“Every cat searched,” she went on. “And I searched too, even though I knew there was no hope of finding them. The Clan was devastated for me.” She dropped her head onto her paws. Forgetting for a moment that she was his leader, Fireheart crossed the floor of the den and gave Bluestar’s ears a gentle lick.

Once again he remembered his dream, and the faceless queen who had faded away, leaving her kits to cry for her. He had thought the queen was Silverstream, but now he realized she was Bluestar as well. The dream had been both prophecy and Clan memory. “Why are you sharing this with me?” he asked.

When Bluestar looked up, Fireheart could hardly bear to see the sorrow in her eyes.

“For many seasons I put the kits out of my mind,” she answered. “I became deputy, and then leader, and my Clan needed me. But lately, with the floods, and the danger to RiverClan—and your discoveries, Fireheart, making me hear again what I knew very well already…And now another pair of kits who are half RiverClan, half ThunderClan. Perhaps this time I can make better decisions.”

“But why tell me?” Fireheart repeated.

“Perhaps after so long I want a cat to know the truth,” meowed Bluestar with a slight frown. “I think you of all cats might understand, Fireheart. Sometimes there are no right choices.”

But Fireheart was not sure that he understood at all. His mind was whirling. On one paw he could picture the young warrior, Bluefur, fiercely ambitious, determined to do the best for her Clan, even if it meant unimaginable sacrifices. On the other, he saw a mother grieving for the kits she had abandoned so long ago. And what was probably more real to him than either, the gifted leader who had done what she felt was best and borne the pain of it alone.

“I won’t tell another cat,” he promised, realizing how much she must trust him to have revealed her secrets to him like this.

“Thank you, Fireheart,” she replied. “There are difficult times ahead of us. The Clan doesn’t need more trouble.” She rose to her paws and stretched as if she had been curled up in a long sleep. “Now I must speak with Tigerclaw. And you, Fireheart, had better go and find your friend.”

The sun was beginning to sink, turning the river into a ribbon of reflected fire, as Fireheart returned to the Sunningrocks. Graystripe crouched beside a patch of freshly turned earth at the top of the riverbank, his gaze fixed on the blazing water.

“I buried her on the shore,” he whispered as Fireheart padded up and sat down beside him. “She loved the river.” He raised his head to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear. “She hunts with StarClan now,” he mewed softly. “Someday I’ll find her again, and we’ll be together.”

Fireheart was unable to speak. He pressed himself more closely to Graystripe’s side, and the two cats crouched there in silence as the bloodred light faded.

“Where did you take the kits?” Graystripe meowed at last. “They should have been buried with her.”

“Buried?” Fireheart echoed. “Graystripe, didn’t you know? The kits are alive.”

Graystripe stared at him, jaws gaping, his golden eyes beginning to glow. “They’re alive—Silverstream’s kits—my kits? Fireheart, where are they?”

“In the ThunderClan nursery.” Fireheart gave him a quick lick. “Goldenflower is suckling them.”

“But she won’t keep them—will she? Does she know they’re Silverstream’s?”

“The whole Clan knows,” Fireheart told him reluctantly. “Tigerclaw saw to that. But Goldenflower doesn’t blame the kits, and neither does Bluestar. They’ll be cared for, Graystripe; they really will.”

Graystripe scrambled to his paws, moving stiffly after his long vigil. He looked doubtfully at Fireheart, as if he couldn’t believe that ThunderClan would really accept the kits. “I want to see them.”

“Come on, then,” mewed Fireheart, feeling a surge of relief that his friend felt ready to face the Clan again. “Bluestar sent me to bring you home.”

He led the way through the darkening forest. Graystripe padded after him, but he kept casting glances back, as if he couldn’t bear to leave Silverstream behind. He did not speak, and Fireheart let him be silent with his memories.

When they reached the camp, the curious murmuring groups of warriors and apprentices had broken up, and everything looked normal for a warm newleaf evening. Brackenfur and Dustpelt crouched by the nettle patch, sharing a piece of fresh-kill, and outside the apprentices’ den Thornpaw and Brightpaw were rolling around in a play fight while Swiftpaw looked on. Tigerclaw and Bluestar were nowhere to be seen.

Fireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted Graystripe left alone, at least until he had visited the kits, without being troubled by blame or hostility from his fellow warriors.

Then, on their way to the nursery, they passed Sandstorm. She halted abruptly, glancing from Fireheart to Graystripe and back again.

“Hi,” Fireheart mewed, trying to sound as friendly as he always did. “We’re going to visit the kits. See you in the den later?”

“You can,” Sandstorm growled, with a glare at Graystripe. “Just keep him away from me, that’s all.” She stalked off, her head and tail held high.

Fireheart’s heart sank. He remembered how hostile Sandstorm had been to him when he first joined the Clan. It had taken her a long time to thaw toward him. How long would it be before she would treat Graystripe as a friend again?

Graystripe flattened his ears against his head. “She doesn’t want me here. No cat does.”

“I do,” Fireheart meowed, hoping he sounded sufficiently encouraging. “Come on; let’s go and see your kits.”