Starlight

Chapter 14

Cool grass swept against Brambleclaw’s pelt as he prowled through the undergrowth. He could hear the scuttering of tiny creatures underneath the bushes, and his senses were flooded with the scent of prey.

Before he could make a catch, he emerged into an open space. An almost-full moon hung in the clear sky, outlining every grass stem and leaf with pale silver rays. Just in front of him the ground fell away into a cleft, with rocks jutting from its steep sides.

Brambleclaw stared in astonishment. This was the ravine leading down to the old ThunderClan camp. He lifted his head and sniffed cautiously. There was no harsh tang of Twoleg monsters in the air, no noise louder than the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees. Their home was safe! The destruction of the forest, the fear and hunger, the long journey through the mountains, had been nothing more than a dream.

Brambleclaw pelted down the ravine to the gorse tunnel at the bottom, his heart nearly bursting with happiness. In a few heartbeats he would see all his Clanmates again: Graystripe would never have been captured by Twolegs; all Ferncloud’s kits would still be alive; the elders would be in their den, querulously ordering the apprentices to get rid of their ticks.

Trembling with excitement, Brambleclaw pushed his way through the gorse tunnel into the camp, his jaws parted to let out a yowl of greeting. Then he stopped dead. The clearing was completely empty, except for one cat sitting alone in the middle of the open space.

The cat raised his head and gazed at Brambleclaw with scorching amber eyes.

It was Tigerstar.

Brambleclaw almost choked with shock and disbelief.

Graystripe’s capture, the death of Ferncloud’s kits, the endless journey—all those things were real. This was the dream, and it had suddenly become a nightmare.

Tigerstar kinked his tail and beckoned Brambleclaw to come closer. Brambleclaw stiffened, then padded slowly forward. As he drew closer he saw his father more clearly, his muscular shoulders and broad head, his burning amber eyes.

“Welcome,” Tigerstar rumbled. “I have waited for many moons to speak with you.”

Brambleclaw stopped a couple of tail-lengths away. He had no idea what to say. All he could think was that he was the image of his father—the breadth of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the exact shade of his eyes. He could have been staring at his reflection in a pool.

“I have seen your courage and strength,” Tigerstar went on. “I am proud to call you kin.”

“Th-thank you.” Brambleclaw kneaded his forepaws on the ground. “Why have you come here? Did StarClan send you?”

“I do not hunt with StarClan,” spat Tigerstar. “There is more sky than Silverpelt, and there are hunting grounds that not even StarClan knows of.”

His gaze slid past Brambleclaw. “Welcome,” he meowed. “I hoped you would come. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

Brambleclaw spun around to see Hawkfrost emerging from the gorse tunnel. He watched in stunned silence as the RiverClan warrior padded across the clearing and sat beside him. The moonlight cast a pair of identical shadows on the hard-baked ground in front of them, and Brambleclaw realized that a half-blind kit would know at once that all three were kin.

He told himself that he ought to feel something stronger than bewilderment and curiosity to find out more about his father and half brother. They came from three different Clans; beyond that, Tigerstar had murdered many cats and betrayed his own Clanmates to satisfy his hunger for power.

Yet Brambleclaw could not shake off the feeling that he had waited a long time for this moment. For all the differences between them, the same blood ran in their veins.

“Are you Tigerstar?” Hawkfrost asked, reminding Brambleclaw that Hawkfrost had arrived in the forest after his father was killed. “Are you my father?”

Tigerstar nodded. “I am. So, how are your new territories?”

“It’s hard being somewhere so different,” Hawkfrost admitted.

“We all miss the forest,” Brambleclaw added.

“Soon the land by the lake will seem like home to you,” Tigerstar promised. “Establish your boundaries and guard them with tooth and claw, because territory is what binds a Clan together.”

“Yes!” Hawkfrost’s eyes gleamed. “RiverClan has set its scent markers already. Yesterday Blackclaw and I drove out a badger that was living in our territory.”

“Good, good.” Tigerstar’s ears pricked, and he raised his head as if he heard a voice calling him. Above the trees, the sky was growing pale with the first light of dawn. “I must go now,” the dark tabby meowed. “Good-bye, Brambleclaw, Hawkfrost. We will meet again as we walk the path of dreams; of that I’m sure.”

He rose to his paws. At that moment a cloud drifted over the face of the moon, plunging the clearing into darkness for a single heartbeat. When it cleared, Tigerstar was gone.

“I must go too.” Hawkfrost touched noses with Brambleclaw and began padding back to the camp entrance.

“No—wait. Don’t go!” Brambleclaw called.

“I have to go; I’m on the dawn patrol. What are you talking about, Brambleclaw?”

Brambleclaw blinked and sat up. Cloudtail was looking at him with a puzzled expression as he groomed scraps of moss out of his pelt. “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “Do you want me to tell Brackenfur I can’t go on the patrol?”

Brambleclaw shook his head, dazed. “No, no, I’m fine.” He lay down again and closed his eyes tightly, as if he could force out the thorn-sharp grief that tore at his belly.

The dream had faded, and he was in the stone hollow again. Tigerstar, Hawkfrost, and the old ThunderClan camp were gone.

Brambleclaw slept dreamlessly for a while, and awoke feeling less confused and wretched. He padded out of the ferns and arched his back in a stretch. The sky was brighter now, outlining the bare branches at the top of the rock wall. A pulse of excitement ran through him as he remembered that tonight the moon would be full, and the Clans would meet for a Gathering.

He glanced around the camp. The clearing looked very different from the first time he had seen it. Many of the brambles had been uprooted to form a barrier blocking the camp entrance. The biggest thicket had been turned into the nursery. The apprentices were using a shallow cave in the rock wall as their den, while the warriors slept under the spreading branches of a thornbush almost as big as the one in the old camp. The elders still hadn’t found a den they could agree on; every night they would try a different spot, and wake up complaining that it was too damp or too drafty.

Brambleclaw suspected Goldenflower and Longtail were rather enjoying the search for the perfect place, because it meant they got to inspect every corner of the hollow, and had even started advising the other cats on the best places to bask in the sun or eat fresh-kill out of the rain.

Gradually, the stone hollow was becoming more like home, but Brambleclaw couldn’t shake off the memory of his dream, when he had gone back to the camp in the ravine. It wasn’t just a longing to be back in the forest that tugged at his paws and made him restless; he kept thinking of his father and half brother, too. What had Tigerstar meant about hunting in different skies? Was he keeping watch over Firestar and the whole of ThunderClan from wherever he hunted now?

Brambleclaw shook his head violently, as if the dream were a cobweb clinging to his pelt. Their old home had gone, and there was nothing to be gained by fretting over memories.

Focusing on practical duties, he saw that the fresh-kill pile near the entrance to the camp was getting low. At the same moment, Dustpelt emerged from the nursery and padded across to meet him.

“Hi,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Want to go hunting?”

“Great!” Dustpelt’s eyes gleamed. “Who should we take with us?”

Brambleclaw wondered if he should go and look for Squirrelflight, but then he heard a cat call out Dustpelt’s name, and glanced around to see Brackenfur racing toward them.

“Dustpelt,” he panted as he skidded to a halt, “you had Whitepaw fetching fresh bedding all day yesterday. Can I have her for warrior training today? It’s time we got the apprentices back into a proper routine.”

“Sure,” Dustpelt replied. “Do you want to come hunting with us?”

“Bring Spiderpaw too,” Brambleclaw suggested.

“Mousefur isn’t well enough for patrols yet.”

“Good thinking.” The voice came from behind Brambleclaw; he spun around to see Firestar coming over.

“I’ve just had a word with Mousefur,” Firestar went on.

“Yesterday Spiderpaw chased away a young fox that was sniffing around the entrance to the camp. We both think he’s ready to be a warrior, so we’re going to hold his ceremony at sunhigh. You can tell him this will be his last hunt as an apprentice.”

Brambleclaw’s tail curled up with satisfaction. Making a new warrior was one of the most important things a Clan could do, and Spiderpaw’s ceremony would be one more thing to make the stone hollow feel like home. It would be something to report at the Gathering, too.

Firestar wished them luck in their hunt and padded off, while Brackenfur went to fetch the two apprentices. Soon the five cats were climbing the slope around the edge of the hollow before striking off into the trees above the camp. They had almost reached the highest point of the cliff when they heard a plaintive mew behind them.

“Wait for me!”

Brambleclaw looked back to see Birchkit struggling after them, stumbling over tussocks of grass in his efforts to keep up.

“Birchkit!” Dustpelt exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The kit looked up at his father with pleading eyes. “I want to go hunting too. Please, can I?”

Brackenfur rolled his eyes at Brambleclaw. “Kits!”

Dustpelt didn’t share their amusement. “No, of course not,” he meowed sharply. “You can’t go hunting until you’re an apprentice.”

“But I’m good at hunting!” Birchkit boasted. “Look, I’ll show you. I’ll catch that bird.”

He nodded at a robin that was perched on one of the thornbushes at the very edge of the hollow. Before any cat could stop him, he wriggled his haunches under him and launched himself at it.

“No!” Dustpelt and Brambleclaw yowled, springing after him.

Brambleclaw reached him first and fastened his teeth in his scruff, just as the thornbush gave way under Birchkit’s weight and he began to slide down into the hollow. Another heartbeat and he would have tumbled over just like Squirrelflight, except at this point the cliff was twice as high, and no cat who fell that far could expect to survive.

Scrambling backward, Brambleclaw dropped Birchkit on solid ground, well away from the edge. The kit crouched there shivering; Dustpelt stood over him, bristling with fury.

“Are you completely mousebrained?” he hissed. “Don’t you think there’s a reason kits stay in the nursery with their mother until they’re apprenticed?”

Birchkit nodded, his eyes huge and scared. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Brackenfur urged. “He didn’t mean any harm.”

Dustpelt whirled around to glare at him. “What difference does that make? He would be dead if it hadn’t been for Brambleclaw.” He prodded Birchkit with his tail. “I haven’t heard you thank him yet.”

Birchkit flattened his ears and ducked his head. “Th-thank you, Brambleclaw. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Brambleclaw meowed. He felt very sorry for the frightened kit—the scare had been enough to keep him in the camp for several moons, judging by Birchkit’s terrified face.

“Come on, stand up; you’re not hurt.” Dustpelt bent over his kit and gave him a few fierce licks. Brambleclaw knew that he had been so angry only because he had nearly lost the last kit of his litter. “Go home to Ferncloud, and let’s have no more of this nonsense.”

Birchkit nodded, and Dustpelt pressed his muzzle comfortingly against his side before the tiny cat set off back toward the camp entrance. His father watched him until he was out of sight.

“We’ll have to make a rule,” he decided. “No kits anywhere near the edge of the cliff. That goes for apprentices too,” he added, flicking his ears at Whitepaw and Spiderpaw, who had watched the near-miss in wide-eyed silence.

Whitepaw nodded; Spiderpaw’s tail curled up as if he were reminding himself that the rule wouldn’t apply to him after sunhigh. He seemed to have forgotten that he had nearly fallen over himself when the Clan first approached the camp.

“We could put scent marks along the edge,” Brambleclaw suggested. “That way every cat would be reminded.”

“Good idea,” mewed Dustpelt. “Have a word with Firestar when we get back. Come on; let’s hunt before Spiderpaw misses his warrior ceremony.”

As Brambleclaw padded after the others, his paws still tingled with the sense of danger. He glanced back at the thornbushes and pictured Birchkit’s tiny body, battered and broken in the clearing below. Have I really brought the Clan somewhere safe? he wondered.

Since they had arrived nearly half a moon ago, there had been no sign from StarClan to suggest they were still being watched by their warrior ancestors. Was this really the place where they were meant to be?

Brambleclaw led the patrol across the stream into the stretch of woodland that Onewhisker had given to ThunderClan. It was not long before he spotted a squirrel scuffling at the foot of a tree. Brambleclaw crept forward and brought it down with a skilful blow that snapped its neck.

“Well done!” Dustpelt called.

Brambleclaw began scratching earth over the squirrel, pausing as Whitepaw padded up to him.

“Do you think we should really take that?” she asked nervously. “Territory on this side of the stream was supposed to be WindClan’s.”

“But Onewhisker gave it to us.” Brambleclaw went on covering the fresh-kill. “This is our prey.” His fur prickled with irritation that an apprentice was suggesting he would steal food from another Clan. It wasn’t his problem if WindClan wanted to give away their hunting grounds.

Whitepaw didn’t protest again when he led his patrol farther into the trees.

By sunhigh the whole Clan had eaten well, and there was a good pile of fresh-kill left over. When they had finished their meal, they stayed in the center of the hollow, where bushes had been cleared away to make a space for the Clan to gather. It was time for Spiderpaw’s warrior ceremony.

There was no Highrock like the one in the old camp.

Instead, Firestar had found a ledge a few tail-lengths above the heads of the other cats, which he reached by leaping up a tumble of broken rock that made rough stepping-stones up the cliff. Just below the ledge—already cats were beginning to call it the Highledge—there was a narrow cleft that opened into a cave where Firestar had decided to make his den. Of all the dens in the new camp, this was most like the one in the ravine, enclosed by lichen-covered walls and with a dry, sandy floor.

Firestar raised his voice in a yowl, his pelt a splash of orange flame against the blue-gray rock. “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the ledge for a Clan meeting.”

Brambleclaw’s pelt tingled to hear the familiar words ring around the hollow. He watched the leggy black figure of Spiderpaw, his pelt groomed until it was as glossy as a raven’s wing, cross the clearing to stand beside his mentor, Mousefur.

She looked thin and shaky, as if she were still not quite recovered from her bellyache, but her eyes shone with pride as her apprentice joined her.

Brambleclaw wriggled forward, hoping to sit beside Squirrelflight, but he stopped when he saw that she was sitting with Ashfur, Sootfur, and Rainwhisker. Their heads were close together and their shoulders shook gently as if they were sharing a joke. Brambleclaw curled his lip, suddenly feeling hollow and cold. He sat gloomily beside the nearest cat, who happened to be Cloudtail, and tried to concentrate.

“Trouble?” murmured the white warrior. He glanced past Brambleclaw and flicked his ears toward Squirrelflight.

“What have you done to ruffle her fur?”

“Nothing,” Brambleclaw replied stubbornly. The reasons for their quarrel were too complicated and private to share with any cat.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Cloudtail gave him a sympathetic flick with his tail. “It’ll blow over.”

“Maybe.” Brambleclaw sighed; he really didn’t want to discuss it.

“We have a ceremony to perform,” Firestar meowed as soon as all the cats were settled. “Mousefur, are you satisfied that Spiderpaw is ready to become a warrior?”

The brown warrior dipped her head. “I am.”

Firestar ran lightly down the broken rocks until he reached the floor of the hollow, and beckoned Spiderpaw closer to him with his tail. Spiderpaw stepped forward, quivering from nose to tail.

“I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice.” Firestar’s voice rang out clearly above the sound of the wind and the gentle creak of branches on the rim of the hollow. “He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” He fixed his gaze on Spiderpaw and went on, “Spiderpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” Spiderpaw replied eagerly.

“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name. Spiderpaw, from this moment you will be known as Spiderleg. StarClan honors your courage and your enthusiasm, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

He took a pace forward and rested his muzzle on the top of Spiderleg’s head. The young warrior gave Firestar’s shoulder a respectful lick, then stepped back to join the other warriors.

“Spiderleg! Spiderleg!” The Clan raised their voices to greet him by his new name. Dustpelt looked ready to burst with pride, and Ferncloud’s eyes were shining with joy to see their eldest son made a warrior at last. Birchkit bounced around his brother’s paws, clearly recovered from his scare that morning.

Firestar raised his tail for silence and the noise died away, all the Clan turning curious faces toward him.

“Before we go to our duties, I have another ceremony to perform,” Firestar meowed. “Mousefur and I have been talking together, and she has come to a decision. Mousefur, are you still sure that this is what you want?”

The old she-cat dipped her head in assent as she stepped forward.

“Mousefur,” Firestar continued, “is it your wish to give up the name of warrior and go to join the elders?”

Brambleclaw thought he heard a tremor in her voice as she mewed, “It is.” He guessed it was hard for the proud warrior to accept that she was growing old; the combination of the long journey and her recent illness had proved that she was not as strong as she used to be. Sadness chilled his fur as he remembered her courage and her fighting skills.

“Your Clan honors you and all the service you have given us,” Firestar went on. “I call upon StarClan to give you many seasons of rest.” He laid his tail upon Mousefur’s shoulders and the old cat bowed her head before padding over to stand beside Longtail and Goldenflower.

“I don’t need too much rest, Firestar,” she rasped. “I’ll still keep my claws sharp, and if trouble comes I’ll be ready.”

A murmur of amusement and admiration rose from the cats around her, and one or two of them called out, “Mousefur! Mousefur!” as if they were welcoming a new warrior. Goldenflower gave her a friendly lick around the ears.

The meeting began to break up. Brambleclaw went over to congratulate Spiderleg and noticed Firestar beckoning him.

“I heard Whitepaw telling Cloudtail about that squirrel you caught this morning,” his leader meowed.

Brambleclaw’s pelt bristled. He’d deliberately avoided ShadowClan territory by taking the patrol in the opposite direction; was Firestar going to blame him for invading WindClan now? “Onewhisker said we could have that stretch of woodland,” he pointed out, trying not to let his anger show in his voice.

“I know.” Firestar’s voice was mild. “You haven’t done anything wrong. But go easy on that patch of territory just for now. We’ll sort it out eventually, but until we do I don’t want to take advantage of Onewhisker’s good nature.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Brambleclaw replied, relieved. “But it’s his responsibility to fight for WindClan’s boundaries. Or does he expect us to defend his territory as well as our own, just because we’ve been traveling together for the past moon?”

Firestar narrowed his eyes. “Don’t worry, Brambleclaw,” he meowed. “The time will come when every Clan will defend themselves with teeth and claws, and fight for their territories as fiercely as we ever did. But that time is not now.” He turned to go, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Brambleclaw,” he advised. “You’ll be coming to the Gathering tonight.”

Brambleclaw blinked, hoping his leader couldn’t see the anticipation that surged through him, making his fur stand on end. I’ll see Hawkfrost again! I can ask him about the dream! He burned with curiosity to know whether his half brother had met with Tigerstar too. Did kin share dreams? Not always—but his dream of the old camp had been so real, almost more real than finding their new home. If Tigerstar was really watching over his sons, surely he would want to visit them both?

He caught his breath, suddenly choking with guilt.

Hawkfrost belonged to a rival Clan. The fact that he and Brambleclaw were kin meant nothing compared to their loyalty to their Clanmates and their leaders. It was ridiculous to think that he and Hawkfrost might have shared a dream.

Yet as he padded across to the warriors’ den to catch a nap before leaving for the Gathering, Brambleclaw’s paws tingled with the thought that he would soon see his half brother again.