Forest Of Secrets

Chapter 4

Fireheart bounded up the ravine, the snow crisp under his paws. The sun shone in a pale blue sky, and though there was little warmth in its rays the sight of it cheered Fireheart and made him hopeful that newleaf was not far away.

Just behind him, Graystripe echoed Fireheart’s thoughts. “With any luck, the sun will bring some prey out.”

“Not if they hear you stomping along!” Sandstorm teased as she scrambled past him.

Brackenpaw, Graystripe’s apprentice, protested loyally, “He doesn’t stomp!” but Graystripe only responded with a good-natured growl. Fireheart felt new energy flow into his limbs. Even though their duties today were meant as punishment, no cat had told them they had to hunt alone, and it was good to be with friends.

Fireheart winced at the memory of Bluestar’s ice-cold gaze when she had rebuked him and Graystripe for apparently hunting for themselves. He would make up for lying to her by bringing back as much fresh-kill as he could. The Clan needed it badly. By the time he and Graystripe left the den that morning, the store of prey in the camp had almost gone, and most of the cats had already left to hunt. Fireheart had spotted Tigerclaw on his way back down the ravine with the morning patrol. A squirrel was clamped in his jaws, its long tail brushing the snow. The deputy’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he passed Fireheart, but he did not put his prey down to speak.

At the top of the slope, Sandstorm ran on ahead, while Graystripe began showing Brackenpaw where to search for mice among the tree roots. Watching them, Fireheart couldn’t suppress a pang of loss as he thought of Cinderpaw, who had been his own apprentice. She would be with them now if it hadn’t been for her accident. Instead, her crippled leg, the result of an accident on the Thunderpath, kept her in the den with Yellowfang, the ThunderClan medicine cat.

Pushing away these heavy thoughts, he crept forward, his jaws parted as he examined the forest smells. A faint breeze stirred the surface of the snow and brought a familiar scent. Rabbit!

Lifting his head, Fireheart could see the brown-furred creature snuffling under a clump of bracken, where a few green spikes of grass poked through the snow. He dropped into a hunting crouch, and delicately, pawstep by pawstep, drew closer. At the last moment the rabbit sensed him and sprang up, but it was too late. Before it could even squeal, Fireheart pounced.

Triumphantly, Fireheart headed back to the camp, dragging the rabbit along with him. As soon as he entered the clearing, he saw with relief that the pile of fresh-kill was swelling again after the morning patrols. Bluestar was standing beside it. “Well done, Fireheart,” she meowed as he brought the rabbit to the pile. “Will you take that straight to Yellowfang in her den?”

Warmed by his leader’s approval, Fireheart hauled the rabbit across the clearing. A tunnel of ferns, brown and brittle now, led to the secluded corner of the camp where the ThunderClan medicine cat had her den inside a split rock.

Ducking under the ferns, Fireheart saw Yellowfang lying in the mouth of her den with her paws tucked under her chest. Cinderpaw sat in front of her, her smoky gray fur fluffed up and her blue eyes focused on the medicine cat’s broad face.

“Now, Cinderpaw,” came the old cat’s rasping mew. “One-eye’s paw pads are cracked because of the cold. What are we going to do for her?”

“Marigold leaves in case of infection,” Cinderpaw replied promptly. “Ointment of yarrow to soften the pads and help them heal. Poppy seed if she’s in pain.”

“Well done,” purred Yellowfang.

Cinderpaw sat up even straighter, and her eyes shone with pride. As Fireheart knew only too well, the medicine cat didn’t give praise lightly.

“Right, you can take her the leaves and the ointment,” meowed Yellowfang. “She won’t need the poppy seed unless the cuts get worse.”

Cinderpaw stood up and was on her way into the den when she caught sight of Fireheart standing by the tunnel. Mewing in delight, she hurried over to him with an awkward, lurching gait.

Regret stabbed at Fireheart, sharp as a claw. Cinderpaw had been a ceaseless bundle of energy before the Thunderpath accident that crushed her leg. Now she would never run properly again, and had had to give up her dreams of becoming a ThunderClan warrior.

But the Thunderpath monster had not crushed her bright spirit. Her eyes were dancing as she reached Fireheart. “Fresh-kill!” she exclaimed. “Is that for us? Great!”

“About time too!” grumbled Yellowfang, still sitting inside her den. “Mind you, the rabbit’s very welcome,” she added. “We’ve had half the Clan in here since sunrise, complaining about some ache or other.”

Fireheart carried the rabbit across the clearing and dropped it in front of the medicine cat.

Yellowfang poked it with one paw. “It might have a bit of flesh on its bones for once,” she remarked grudgingly. “All right, Cinderpaw, take the marigold leaves and the yarrow to One-eye, and hurry back. If you’re quick there might be some rabbit left.”

Cinderpaw purred and brushed Yellowfang’s shoulder with the tip of her tail as she went past her into the den.

Softly, Fireheart mewed, “How’s she doing? Is she settling down?”

“She’s fine,” snapped Yellowfang. “Stop worrying about her.”

Fireheart wished he could. Cinderpaw had been his apprentice. He could not help feeling that he had been partly responsible for her accident. He should have stopped her from going to the Thunderpath alone.

Then he brought himself up short, remembering exactly how the accident had happened. Tigerclaw had asked Bluestar to meet him by the Thunderpath, but Bluestar had been too ill to go. Few warriors were in the camp; Fireheart himself had been about to leave on an urgent mission for catnip to treat Bluestar’s greencough. He had told Cinderpaw not to go meet Tigerclaw instead of him, but Cinderpaw had ignored his order. The accident had happened because Tigerclaw had placed his scent marker too close to the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart suspected that it was meant as a trap for Bluestar, and Tigerclaw was responsible.

As Fireheart said good-bye to Yellowfang and went back to hunting, he felt a new surge of determination to bring Tigerclaw’s guilt into the open. For the sake of Redtail, murdered; for Ravenpaw, driven from the Clan; for Cinderpaw, crippled. And for all the Clan cats, both now and to come, who were in danger from Tigerclaw’s greed for power.

It was the day after their hunting punishment. Fireheart had decided there was no time to lose before visiting RiverClan territory, to discover how Oakheart had really died. He crouched at the edge of the forest and looked out toward the frozen river. The wind made a rustling sound in the dry reeds that poked up through the ice and snow.

Beside him, Graystripe sniffed the breeze, alert for the scent of other cats. “I can smell RiverClan cats,” he whispered. “But the scent’s old. I think we can cross safely.”

Fireheart realized he was more worried about cats from his own Clan seeing them than meeting an enemy patrol. Already Tigerclaw suspected him of treachery. If the deputy found out what they were doing now, they’d be crowfood. “All right,” he whispered back. “Let’s go.”

Graystripe led the way confidently across the ice, keeping his weight low over his paws so that he didn’t slip. At first Fireheart was impressed; then he realized that Graystripe had been crossing the river secretly for moons now, to go and meet Silverstream. He followed more cautiously, half expecting the ice to crack under his weight and plunge him into the freezing dark water below. Here, downstream of the Sunningrocks, the river itself was the boundary between the two Clans. Fireheart’s fur prickled as he crossed, and he kept glancing back to make sure that no cat from his Clan was watching.

Once they reached the far bank, they crept into the shelter of a reed bed and sniffed the air again for signs of RiverClan cats. Fireheart was conscious of Graystripe’s unspoken fear; every muscle of the gray warrior’s body was tense as he peered through the reed stems. “We must both be mad,” he hissed to Fireheart. “You made me promise to meet Silverstream at Fourtrees whenever I wanted to see her, and now here we are, in RiverClan territory again.”

“I know,” Fireheart answered. “But there’s no other way. We need to talk to a RiverClan cat, and Silverstream’s more likely to help us than any of the others.”

He was just as apprehensive as his friend. They were surrounded by scents of RiverClan, though none of them were fresh. To Fireheart, it felt as if he were a kittypet in the forest for the first time again, lost in a frightening and unfamiliar place.

Using the reeds for cover, the two cats began to work their way upstream. Fireheart tried to step lightly, as if he were stalking prey, his belly skimming the snow. He was uncomfortably aware of how his flame-colored coat stood out against the white surface. The scent of RiverClan cats was growing more powerful, and he guessed the camp must be nearby. “How much farther?” he mewed softly to Graystripe.

“Not far. See that island up ahead?”

They had come to a place where the river curved away from ThunderClan territory and grew wider. Not far ahead a small island surrounded by reed beds showed above the frozen surface. Willow trees stooped low from the banks of the island, the tips of their overhanging branches trapped in the ice.

“An island?” Fireheart echoed in amazement. “But what happens when the river isn’t frozen? Do they swim across?”

“Silverstream says the water’s very shallow there,” Graystripe explained. “But I’ve never been right into the camp myself.”

Beside them, the ground sloped gently upward, away from the reedy shore. At the top, gorse and hawthorn grew thickly, with the occasional holly showing green and shiny under its coating of snow. But there was a bare expanse of shore between the reeds and the sheltering bushes, with no cover for prey or cats.

Graystripe had been moving forward in a low crouch; now he lifted his head, scenting the air and looking warily around. Then, without warning, he sprang away from the reeds and dashed up the slope.

Fireheart raced after him, his paws skidding in the snow. Reaching the bushes, they plunged between the branches and stopped, gasping for breath. Fireheart listened for the yowling of an alerted patrol, but no sound came up from the camp. He flopped down on the dead leaves and puffed out a sigh of relief.

“We can see the entrance of the camp from here,” Graystripe told him. “I used to wait here for Silverstream.”

Fireheart hoped she would come soon. Every moment they spent here increased their chances of discovery. Shifting his position so he had a good view of the slope and the island camp, he could just make out the silhouettes of cats moving around. He was so intent on trying to peer into the thick bushes that screened the island that he didn’t see the tabby who was padding past their hiding place until she was barely a tail-length away. She carried a small squirrel in her jaws, and her gaze was fixed on the frozen ground.

Fireheart froze into a crouch, ready to spring out if the cat spotted them, and tracked her with his gaze as she passed. Luckily, he thought, the scent of the prey she was carrying must have masked the scent of ThunderClan intruders. Suddenly he realized that a group of four cats, led by Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, had emerged from the camp. Leopardfur was fiercely hostile toward ThunderClan, ever since her patrol had come upon Fireheart and Graystripe trespassing on RiverClan territory as they returned from bringing WindClan home. A RiverClan cat had died in the ensuing fight, and Leopardfur did not forgive easily. If she discovered Fireheart and Graystripe now, she wouldn’t even give them a chance to explain what they were doing on this side of the river.

To Fireheart’s relief, the patrol didn’t come their way. Instead they set off across the frozen river toward the Sunningrocks—off to patrol the border, Fireheart guessed.

At last a familiar silver-gray shape appeared.

“Silverstream!” purred Graystripe.

Fireheart watched the RiverClan she-cat stepping delicately across the ice toward the bank. She was certainly beautiful, he realized, with a finely shaped head and thick, sleek fur. No wonder Graystripe was captivated by her.

Graystripe rose to his paws, ready to call out to her, when two other cats emerged from the camp and ran to catch up with Silverstream. One of them was the smoky black warrior Blackclaw, recognizable from Gatherings by his long legs and lean body, and a smaller cat Fireheart guessed must have been Blackclaw’s apprentice.

“Hunting patrol,” Graystripe murmured.

All three cats began to climb the slope. Fireheart let out a hiss, half impatience, half fear. He had hoped they would be able to speak to Silverstream alone. How could they separate her from her companions? What if Blackclaw scented the intruders? After all, he wasn’t carrying a helpful mouthful of prey to block his scent glands.

Blackclaw took the lead with his apprentice, and Silverstream followed a tail-length or two behind. As the patrol reached the bushes, Silverstream paused, her ears pricked warily as if she had detected a familiar but unexpected scent. Graystripe let out a short, sharp hiss, and Silverstream’s ears swiveled toward the sound.

“Silverstream!” Graystripe mewed softly.

The she-cat flicked her ears, and Fireheart let out the breath he had been holding. She had heard.

“Blackclaw!” she called to the warrior ahead of her. “I’ll try for a mouse in the bushes here. Don’t wait for me.”

Fireheart heard an answering mew from Blackclaw. Moments later Silverstream slipped through the branches until she reached the space where the young ThunderClan warriors were crouching. She pressed herself against Graystripe, purring loudly, and the two cats rubbed their faces together with obvious delight.

“I thought you only wanted us to meet at Fourtrees,” Silverstream meowed when the two cats had finished greeting each other. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought Fireheart to see you,” Graystripe explained. “He needs to ask you something.”

Fireheart had not spoken to Silverstream since he had let her escape in the battle. He guessed she was remembering that, too, for she dipped her head graciously toward him, with no trace of the defensive hostility she had shown when he had tried to discourage her from seeing Graystripe at the start of their relationship. “Yes, Fireheart?”

“What do you know about the battle at the Sunningrocks, where Oakheart died?” Fireheart launched straight in. “Were you there?”

“No,” Silverstream replied. She looked thoughtful. “Is it very important?”

“Yes, it is. Could you ask some cat who was? I need—”

“I’ll do better than that,” Silverstream interrupted him. “I’ll bring Mistyfoot to talk to you herself.”

Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe. Was that a good idea?

“It’s okay,” meowed Silverstream, as if she guessed what was worrying him. “Mistyfoot knows about me and Graystripe. She doesn’t like it, but she won’t give me away. She’ll come now if I ask her.”

Fireheart hesitated, then dipped his head in assent. “All right. Thanks.”

He had hardly finished speaking before Silverstream turned and slid out of the bushes again. Fireheart watched her bounding through the snow toward the camp.

“Isn’t she great?” Graystripe murmured.

Fireheart said nothing, but settled down to wait. He was getting more nervous with every moment that passed. If he and Graystripe stayed in RiverClan territory for much longer, some of the RiverClan cats were bound to find them. They would be lucky to escape with their fur intact. “Graystripe,” he began. “If Silverstream can’t—”

Just then he saw the silver-gray tabby crossing the ice from the camp again, with another cat behind her. They raced up the slope, and Silverstream led the way into the bushes. The cat she brought with her was a slender queen with thick gray fur and blue eyes. For a heartbeat, Fireheart thought she seemed familiar. He decided he must have seen her at a Gathering.

When the queen saw Fireheart and Graystripe she stopped dead. Her fur began to rise suspiciously and she flattened her ears against her head.

“Mistyfoot,” meowed Silverstream quietly, “these are—”

“ThunderClan cats!” hissed Mistyfoot. “What are they doing here? This is RiverClan territory!”

“Mistyfoot, listen…” Silverstream went over to her friend, and tried to nudge her toward Fireheart and Graystripe.

Mistyfoot stood her ground; Fireheart couldn’t help feeling daunted by the look of blank hostility in her eyes. Had he been stupid to think that RiverClan would help him?

“I kept your secret about him,” Mistyfoot reminded Silverstream, jerking her chin at Graystripe. “But I’m not going to keep quiet if you start bringing the whole of ThunderClan here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Silverstream retorted.

“It’s all right, Mistyfoot,” Fireheart put in quickly. “We haven’t taken any of your prey, and we’re not here to spy. We need to speak to a cat who fought in the battle at Sunningrocks, where Oakheart died.”

“Why?” Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes.

“It’s…hard to explain,” Fireheart mewed. “But it’s nothing that could harm RiverClan. I swear that by StarClan,” he added.

The young queen seemed to relax, and this time she let Silverstream urge her forward until she was sitting beside Fireheart.

Graystripe stood up, ducking his head to avoid the low-hanging branches. “If you two are going to talk, Silverstream and I will leave you to it.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to protest, alarmed at the idea of being left alone in enemy territory. But Graystripe and Silverstream were already slipping out of the bushes.

Just before they vanished among the tough hawthorn branches, Graystripe looked back. “Oh, Fireheart,” he meowed quietly, “before you go back, make sure you roll in something strong, to hide the RiverClan scent.” He blinked in embarrassment. “Fox dung is good.”

“Wait, Graystripe—” Fireheart jumped to his paws. But it was no use. Graystripe and Silverstream were gone.

“Don’t worry,” meowed Mistyfoot behind him. “I won’t eat you. You’d give me bellyache.” Fireheart turned back to see her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re Fireheart, aren’t you?” she went on. “I’ve seen you at Gatherings. They say you used to be a kittypet.” Her voice was cool, with thinly veiled suspicion.

“That’s true,” Fireheart admitted heavily, feeling the familiar sting at the contempt of Clanborn cats for his past. “But I’m a warrior now.”

Mistyfoot licked her paw and drew it slowly over one ear, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. “All right,” she meowed at last. “I fought in the battle. What do you want to know?”

Fireheart paused for a moment, putting his thoughts in order. He would have only one chance to find out the truth; he mustn’t make any mistakes.

“Get on with it,” growled Mistyfoot. “I’ve left my kits to come and talk to you.”

“It won’t take long,” Fireheart promised. “What can you tell me about the way Oakheart died?”

“Oakheart?” Mistyfoot looked down at her paws. After a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to Fireheart again. “Oakheart was my father; did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t,” mewed Fireheart. “I’m sorry. I never met him, but they say he was a brave warrior.”

“He was the best and the bravest,” Mistyfoot agreed. “And he should never have died. It was an accident.”

Fireheart felt his heart begin to race. This was exactly what he needed to know! “Are you sure?” he asked. “No cat killed him?”

“He was wounded in the battle, but not enough to kill him,” meowed Mistyfoot. “Afterward, we found his body under some fallen rocks. Our medicine cat said that was what killed him.”

“So no cat was responsible…” Fireheart muttered. “Ravenpaw was right.”

“What?” The blue-gray queen frowned.

“Nothing,” Fireheart meowed hastily. “Nothing important. Thank you, Mistyfoot. That’s just what I wanted to know.”

“Then if that’s all—”

“No, Mistyfoot, wait! There’s one more thing. In the battle, one of our cats heard Oakheart say that no ThunderClan cat should harm Stonefur. Do you know what he meant by that?”

The RiverClan queen was silent for a while, her blue eyes gazing into the distance. Then she shook her head firmly, as if she were flicking water off it. “Stonefur is my brother,” she mewed.

“Then Oakheart was his father, too,” Fireheart realized. “Is that why he wanted to protect him from ThunderClan cats?”

“No!” Mistyfoot’s eyes flashed blue fire. “Oakheart never tried to protect either of us. He wanted us to be warriors like him, and bring honor to the Clan.”

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded as if she was genuinely puzzled.

Fireheart tried not to feel disappointed. At least he knew for certain now how Oakheart had died. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that what Oakheart had said about Stonefur was important, if only he could understand it.

“My mother might know,” Mistyfoot meowed unexpectedly. Fireheart turned back to her, his ears pricked. “Graypool,” she added. “If she can’t explain it, no cat can.”

“Could you ask her?”

“Maybe…” Mistyfoot’s expression was still guarded, but Fireheart guessed that she was as curious about the meaning of Oakheart’s words as he was himself. “But it might be better for you to speak to her yourself.”

Fireheart blinked in surprise that Mistyfoot should suggest such a thing, when she had seemed so hostile at first. “Can I?” he asked. “Now?”

“No,” Mistyfoot decided after a pause. “It’s too risky for you to stay here any longer. Leopardfur’s patrol will be back soon. Besides, Graypool is an elder now, and hardly ever leaves the camp. She’ll take some persuading before she’ll come out. But don’t worry; I’ll think of a reason.”

Fireheart bowed his head in reluctant agreement. Part of him was wildly impatient to hear what Graypool had to say, but the rest of him knew that Mistyfoot was right. “How will I know where to meet her?”

“I’ll send a message with Silverstream,” Mistyfoot promised. “Now go. If Leopardfur finds you here, I won’t be able to help you.”

Fireheart blinked at her. He would have liked to give the young queen a lick of gratitude, but he was afraid of getting a clawed ear in return. Mistyfoot seemed to have gotten over the worst of her hostility, but she wasn’t going to let him forget that they came from two different Clans.

“Thank you, Mistyfoot,” he meowed. “I won’t forget this. And if ever I can do anything for you—”

“Just go!” Mistyfoot hissed. As Fireheart slipped past her toward the gap in the bushes, she added with a purr of amusement, “And don’t forget the fox dung.”