River, page 14
And I really didn’t know anything.
“Are you okay?” Blazefire asked.
Sunbeam wanted to screech at him, to ask him how she could possibly be okay when she had just lost the cat she loved and the life she’d thought they would have. But Blazefire was sick and in pain, and in spite of everything she still cared for him.
“Yes, I’m okay,” she meowed crisply, rising to her paws. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Then, unable to contain her bitterness, she looked back as she was about to leave the den. “I just thought you were a different cat.”
Chapter 16
Pale dawn light seeped into the ThunderClan camp. The sky was gray with cloud, and a chilly breeze ruffled Flamepaw’s fur as he waited near the thorn tunnel for Squirrelflight and Sparkpelt to join him. He flexed his claws uneasily, digging them into the earth. The day before, when the Clan deputy had chosen him to be part of the patrol to WindClan, he had felt excited. Now it seemed awkward for him to be on a mission with his mother and her mother.
They’ll both be there to see me when I mess up again.
Across the camp he saw Squirrelflight emerge from the warriors’ den, followed almost at once by Sparkpelt. They bounded over to his side.
“Good, you’re ready.” Squirrelflight gave Flamepaw a brief inspection; he immediately felt as if he must have dust on his pelt or a leaf in his ear. “Let’s go.”
But before Squirrelflight could lead the way into the tunnel, Flamepaw picked up the sound of another cat brushing through from the outside. A heartbeat later Bramblestar padded into the camp.
Flamepaw froze. He didn’t know whether Squirrelflight had told their Clan leader that she intended to go to WindClan, but he was sure Bramblestar wouldn’t approve.
However, the leader’s gaze flicked over the three cats with little interest, and he gave Squirrelflight a brief nod. “Good hunting,” he meowed, then headed toward his den.
Squirrelflight returned the nod, but made no attempt to tell Bramblestar where they were really going.
Flamepaw’s pelt prickled with uneasiness, but he said nothing. All he wanted was to get through this mission to WindClan and prove that he was ready to be a warrior. Whatever is the matter between Squirrelflight and Bramblestar really isn’t any of my business.
But the three cats had hardly left the stone hollow behind when Sparkpelt picked up her pace to walk beside her mother. “What’s going on with Bramblestar?” she asked. “Doesn’t he know we’re on our way to WindClan?”
A few heartbeats passed before Squirrelflight answered. “Bramblestar just needs time to recover,” she mewed at last.
But that doesn’t answer Sparkpelt’s question, Flamepaw thought, surprised that Squirrelflight wasn’t being completely truthful, even with her daughter. He remembered the conversation he had overheard the day before, when the Clan leader had said the confrontation was unnecessary, and he noticed the skeptical look that Sparkpelt gave her mother. It seemed to Flamepaw that Sparkpelt’s reaction proved he was right: Squirrelflight was doing something she shouldn’t.
“How is Bramblestar?” Sparkpelt asked, her green eyes shadowed with anxiety for her father. “He must have had a terrible time in the Dark Forest.”
Squirrelflight let out a long sigh. “Yes, what happened there has affected him deeply,” she admitted, then added quickly, “He’s fine—completely fine. He’s a great leader, and absolutely himself . . . but he’s not sleeping well. He keeps having dreams about the Dark Forest.”
“That’s not surprising,” Sparkpelt murmured. “What kind of dreams?”
“Disturbing ones,” Squirrelflight replied. “When we were there, Bramblestar’s spirit was sometimes under Ashfur’s control, like all the spirits who were stranded there. And Ashfur made Bramblestar fight for him.” She hesitated, then added, “There was a time when he made him attack me.”
Flamepaw bit back a gasp of shock. He had heard about some of the events in the Dark Forest, but nothing as terrible as this. He could hardly imagine what it would be like if he had to fight Finchlight, or even Sparkpelt. It was no wonder that Bramblestar wasn’t sleeping well.
“Bramblestar has been dreaming about the time he turned on me,” Squirrelflight went on. Flamepaw thought she sounded relieved to have another cat she could talk to, though he couldn’t imagine that he would ever pick Sparkpelt if he had something important he needed to talk about. She’s hardly the easiest cat to confide in. “And the others in ThunderClan. He didn’t want to hurt me, but he couldn’t help himself.”
“I think we all know that,” Sparkpelt told her, touching her mother on the shoulder with the tip of her tail.
Squirrelflight flashed her a grateful look. “But it’s not just that,” she said. “Some of the Clan hasn’t forgotten the time when Ashfur was leading us in Bramblestar’s body, and it disturbed Bramblestar deeply when he heard about some of the things he did. He was absolutely horrified to find out that some of his Clanmates thought he might have been the one doing them. Now he says he can tell that sometimes they’re afraid of him.”
Flamepaw suddenly understood the weird encounter with Bramblestar beside the fresh-kill pile the day before. Bramblestar had criticized the hunting patrol for their poor result, which was a bit unfair but not unreasonable for a leader who wanted to make sure his Clan would be fed.
He scared Stormcloud, and he terrified Twigbranch.
When the impostor had been in charge of ThunderClan, Flamepaw had been too young to understand everything that happened, but he understood now. He knew how Twigbranch had been exiled as a codebreaker but promised the chance to atone, if she brought back a massive amount of prey.
But when she’d done that, Ashfur still hadn’t let her back into the Clan. No wonder she got scared when Bramblestar scolded her for not catching enough! She must have felt like she was in danger of being exiled again.
“Really?” Sparkpelt sounded scornful as she responded to what Squirrelflight had told her. “Afraid of our own leader?”
“Not always,” Squirrelflight replied. “But whenever Bramblestar is even a little bit forceful. He wants to avoid that, above anything.”
“But he’s supposed to be forceful,” Sparkpelt pointed out. “Forceful is how Clan leaders are.”
Squirrelflight shrugged. “It bothers him, that’s all.”
Sparkpelt thought about that for a moment. “But if he’s afraid of being seen as aggressive, how can you be sure he’s making the best decisions for the Clan?”
The Clan deputy didn’t answer that question. Instead she was silent as the cats emerged from the trees and began to head along the lakeshore toward the stream that formed the border with WindClan. But Flamepaw knew exactly what she would have answered. She must agree with Sparkpelt. Why else would she be going to confront WindClan without letting the Clan leader know?
Anxiety twisted Flamepaw’s belly, painful as if he had swallowed a bramble tendril. He knew that no Clan could survive without a strong leader, and yet almost every other cat seemed quite unaware that Bramblestar had problems. Squirrelflight clearly knew, but she had only confided in her own daughter, pretending to the rest of the Clan that everything, including their leader, was fine.
But what else can she do? Flamepaw asked himself. What can a deputy do, if they can’t trust their leader anymore?
The dawn light had strengthened; somewhere behind the clouds the sun must have risen, but there was no sign of it. In the open the wind was stronger, too, flattening Flamepaw’s fur against his sides and ridging the surface of the lake.
“Flamepaw is doing really well,” Squirrelflight told Sparkpelt after a few moments, changing the subject entirely. “He’s just not quite there yet. He’s been struggling with judgment.”
Don’t mind me, Flamepaw thought, resentful and embarrassed all at once. Go on talking about me, just as if I were a . . . a tree stump!
Sparkpelt glanced back at him. “That’s always a problem for young cats,” she murmured.
“But you’ve always shown good judgment,” Squirrelflight went on. “Why don’t you give him some extra help?”
Sparkpelt looked taken aback. “I’d be happy to,” she responded after a moment.
Flamepaw could tell that his mother didn’t really want to. “I’m already getting help from Lilyheart,” he snapped. “That’s why I have a mentor.”
Sparkpelt’s whiskers twitched at his tone. “That’s fine, then,” she mewed.
Squirrelflight’s face fell, and Flamepaw felt even worse. Sparkpelt seemed glad to have an excuse not to help him, maybe because he had been rude to her, or maybe because she really didn’t care whether he became a warrior or not. And Squirrelflight could see it, too.
It was a massive relief for Flamepaw when they reached the bank of the border stream and the two she-cats stopped talking about him. The wind carried the scent of the WindClan border markers, but there was no sign of any cat. Flamepaw glanced around for a suitable spot to hide, only to feel his mother’s tail touching his shoulder.
“There’s no need to sneak,” Squirrelflight told him. “We want the WindClan cats to see us. We’re here to talk.” She sat down and began calmly washing her paws.
Flamepaw sat beside her and Sparkpelt, his nervousness growing with every heartbeat as they waited. Just keep your mouth shut, he told himself. Then you can’t get into trouble.
He felt they had been sitting on the bank for moons, but in fact it was not long before a strong scent of cat washed over him and a WindClan patrol emerged from the undergrowth on the opposite side of the stream.
Nightcloud was in the lead, with Sedgewhisker and Oatclaw padding along at her shoulder. The black she-cat’s ears pricked as she spotted the ThunderClan patrol, and her fur bristled as she drew to a halt. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“Greetings, Nightcloud,” Squirrelflight responded, dipping her head politely. “We’re here to talk to Harestar, if you’ll allow us to cross your border.”
Nightcloud hesitated for a few heartbeats, sizing up the ThunderClan patrol with a gaze that was unfriendly, if not downright hostile. She was a beautiful cat, Flamepaw thought, with the typical wiry WindClan body and sleek black fur.
Sure, her name suits her perfectly, he told himself, stifling a sigh.
“No,” Nightcloud meowed at last. “You stay over there, where you belong. Oatclaw, run back to camp and ask Harestar if he wants to come and talk to the ThunderClan deputy.”
Oatclaw raced off at once, his tail streaming out behind him as he disappeared through the trees. When he was gone, the WindClan cats settled down to wait on their own side of the stream. A slightly awkward silence fell.
“How is the prey running in WindClan?” Sparkpelt asked after a moment.
“Well enough,” Nightcloud replied curtly.
“And is all well in ThunderClan?” Sedgewhisker added in a softer tone.
Squirrelflight launched into a story about a patrol that had tracked a fox until it had finally decided to leave for the unassigned territory across the border. Flamepaw had to admire her tact: emphasizing ThunderClan’s courage and competence without touching on anything that could be interpreted as criticism of WindClan.
The deputy was just finishing her story when Oatclaw reappeared. He was accompanied by Heathertail, and they were escorting not Harestar, but the WindClan deputy, Crowfeather.
“Harestar was busy,” he announced brusquely as he drew to a halt at the edge of the stream. “He sent me instead. What can I do for you?”
“Greetings, Crowfeather.” Squirrelflight’s tone was genuinely warm, and her green gaze was friendly. “Have you recovered from your time in the Dark Forest?”
Crowfeather visibly relaxed. “I have, thank you, Squirrelflight. I hope you have, too, and Bramblestar.”
“Yes, every cat is fine,” Squirrelflight told him.
Of course, Flamepaw thought. Even if she is worried about Bramblestar, she would never admit it to a WindClan cat. She would never tell him the things she told Sparkpelt.
“I think you know why we’ve come,” Squirrelflight continued, sounding briskly efficient now. “Yesterday Hootwhisker leaped the border stream and caught a vole on ThunderClan territory. That vole was ours, Crowfeather. You know that’s part of the warrior code.”
Crowfeather looked briefly embarrassed, but he met Squirrelflight’s gaze squarely. “You surely haven’t forgotten that WindClan helped you get your leader back from the Place of No Stars,” he meowed. “Maybe a vole or two isn’t worth fighting over.”
“This isn’t a fight,” Squirrelflight responded firmly. “It’s a simple request.”
Her forceful tone impressed Flamepaw; the ThunderClan deputy had made it quite clear that this could be a fight, if that was what WindClan wanted. At the same time, he worried about what might happen if the confrontation really did turn into a fight, and trouble between ThunderClan and WindClan. What would Bramblestar do then? he wondered. He would have to back up Squirrelflight, or let WindClan think they can treat us however they like.
The air tingled with tension between the two deputies; Squirrelflight’s shoulder fur was beginning to rise, while the tip of Crowfeather’s tail flicked back and forth irritably.
Then Crowfeather slowly dipped his head. “Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll arrange to send you some prey, to make up for the vole. After all, I wouldn’t want Bramblestar to make himself ill fretting over relations between our two Clans, not while he’s weakened from what Ashfur did to him.”
Squirrelflight had begun to let her fur lie flat, but at Crowfeather’s last words it bristled up again.
“I told you, Bramblestar is fine,” she hissed.
The WindClan deputy twitched his whiskers, looking unconvinced. But when he next spoke, there was sincerity in his voice. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m truly worried about Bramblestar,” he meowed. “I’ll always feel a bond with him, after our journey to the sun-drown-water. No cat should have to endure what he did in the Dark Forest. And few cats could have come away from it unscathed. You must take care of him, Squirrelflight, and take care of yourself. ThunderClan has always been such a strong Clan, and Bramblestar a noble leader, but you have both been through so much. I truly hope you can reclaim that.”
For a moment Squirrelflight stared at him as if she wasn’t sure how to respond. Flamepaw, too, wasn’t sure what to make of the WindClan cat’s words. His Clanmates had always made it sound as if the other Clans looked up to ThunderClan. But though Crowfeather wasn’t hostile any longer, it didn’t sound as if he looked up to them at all.
It sounds more like WindClan pities us.
Eventually Squirrelflight gave Crowfeather a brisk nod. “I appreciate your concern, Crowfeather,” she mewed. “But Bramblestar doesn’t need looking after. You’re right, no cat should have endured what he faced in the Dark Forest, and I’m telling you that very few cats could have. I only wish every Clan could be lucky enough to have such a strong leader. As for you, Crowfeather,” she finished, “don’t forget about that prey.”
Not waiting for a reply, she turned and led the way through the trees, back toward the ThunderClan camp.
Following her and Sparkpelt, Flamepaw thought over what had happened. They had gotten the promise of prey that they wanted, and without having to fight for it, but somehow he didn’t feel as triumphant as he had expected. He couldn’t help suspecting that they had only made the situation more complicated.
Chapter 17
Frostpaw shivered as she emerged from her den. The sun was not yet up, though a golden glow on the horizon told her it would rise soon. She padded across the stretch of pebbles to the stream for a drink, noting how chilly it was getting, Leaf-fall was in full swing, which meant leadbare wasn’t far off.Her thirst quenched, Frostpaw was giving herself a quick grooming when Mothwing bounded down the bank and came to a halt beside her.
“Good, you’re awake,” her mentor meowed. “I’ve just chosen some cats for a patrol to go and find Reedwhisker, and I want you to lead it.”
Frostpaw felt a jolt in her belly as if some cat had hurled a rock at her. “Me?” she exclaimed, staring at Mothwing. “Oh, no, I can’t possibly!”
“Of course you can,” Mothwing responded calmly. “You’re the cat who had the vision of where to find him.”
“But . . .” Frostpaw couldn’t believe that her mentor had chosen her for the task. She wanted to feel proud, but instead every hair on her pelt was quivering with apprehension. “I’ll join the patrol, of course I will, but I can’t lead it!”
For a moment Mothwing sat looking at her with her head on one side. “Frostpaw, you’re a medicine cat,” she mewed at last, in a tone that didn’t allow for any argument. “It’s your destiny to take great responsibility for the well-being of your Clan, and there’s no better time for you to start. I have every confidence that you can do it, so let’s have no more nonsense. Come and help yourself to some fresh-kill, and then you can get going.”
Her tail drooping, Frostpaw followed Mothwing back up the bank and hurried over to the fresh-kill pile. While she gulped down a mouse, she saw Mothwing cross the camp to where three cats—Curlfeather, Splashtail, and Gorseclaw—were waiting near the entrance. Mothwing said something to them, too quietly for Frostpaw to hear, but she heard Gorseclaw well enough, the white tom’s voice carrying clearly in the chilly morning air.
“Frostpaw is leading us? Have you got bees in your brain, Mothwing?”
Mothwing’s response was as icy as the breeze that flowed across the camp. “Frostpaw is a medicine cat who has had a vision of where we can find our new leader. And you’ll need a medicine cat in case Reedwhisker is hurt. Who else should lead the patrol?”
“I thought you would, Mothwing,” Splashtail meowed.
“Yes, that would work really well,” Mothwing snapped. “Seeing that I don’t have the faintest idea where to go.” She spun around. “Frostpaw!”
Swallowing the last mouthful of mouse, Frostpaw swiped her tongue around her jaws and bounded across the camp to her mentor’s side. “I’m ready, Mothwing,” she mewed, trying not to let her voice shake.
