Onestar's Confession, page 23
Anything would be better than this continual bickering.
But before he could speak, Lionblaze ended the discussion by charging Breezepelt with disloyalty. Their skirmish—with words alone, not claws, Onestar thought thankfully—ended with Breezepelt storming out of the clearing. The remaining cats were so disturbed that the other leaders made their reports quickly and the Gathering came to an end.
It couldn’t end soon enough for Onestar. All WindClan’s difficulties had been made public: the problem with the stoats, the question of Breezepelt’s loyalty, the meaning of Kestrelflight’s vision. It sounds as if our Clan is in complete chaos, Onestar thought. But that’s not true at all . . . is it?
He was preparing to leap down from the Great Oak when he realized that Bramblestar was still standing on the branch beside him, watching him with head tilted and a sympathetic look in his eyes.
“What?” Onestar growled.
“Crowfeather and Breezepelt seem to be having difficulties,” Bramblestar commented.
Onestar felt his shoulder fur beginning to rise, though the ThunderClan leader’s tone was friendly, not critical. Remembering the two toms glaring at each other in the midst of the upheaval, Onestar had to agree. “They’re hardly the first father and son to argue,” he pointed out.
Bramblestar let out a small mrrow of amusement. “Yes, raising kits teaches you humility,” he mewed. “Sometimes it shows you parts of yourself you never knew were there, right, Onestar?”
“It certainly does.” Onestar forced his voice to remain calm even as he responded to the younger cat’s comment. He had never struggled with Heathertail; they had always been friends as well as kin. So what exactly was Bramblestar referring to?
A pang of worry griped deep in Onestar’s belly. Could Bramblestar know about Smoke and Darkkit?
It was unlikely, but not impossible, Onestar realized. A few WindClan warriors knew his secret, and word could have spread, especially during the Great Journey, when the Clans were so close to one another. What if Bramblestar’s comment was his way of telling Onestar that he knew, that he had power over him? And what would it mean, for another Clan’s leader to have a secret to hold over him?
What a fool I was, to think that Bramblestar would be just like Firestar! Ashfoot was right: you can’t trust other Clans! I should have listened to her, not that naive Harespring. He has as much sense as a kit still in the nursery.
“You know, Onestar,” Bramblestar continued, “if you’re having problems, ThunderClan is ready to help.”
Panic battered inside Onestar’s chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone form words. “WindClan has everything under control,” he managed at last. “We don’t need ThunderClan sticking their paws in!”
Bramblestar’s widened in shock at Onestar’s harsh rejection. “If that’s how you feel,” he meowed, dipping his head in acceptance. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
He leaped down from the Great Oak and bounded across the clearing to disappear into the bushes.
Onestar followed more slowly. He hadn’t thought about Smoke and Darkkit in moons . . . but suddenly he could think of nothing else.
Flames wreathed around Onestar. Though he couldn’t see more than a tail-length in any direction, he somehow knew that he was back in the old territory. Fire raged across the moor, scorching his pads and singeing his whiskers if he got too close.
“Smoke! Darkkit!” he called desperately, only to break off, coughing, as smoke burned his lungs.
Onestar kept on searching, growing more and more frantic, until a white shape flashed out of the flames and barreled into him, knocking him off his paws. He looked up into the face of a fully grown Darkkit, his powerful body completely white except for the black blotches around his eyes and a black tail. His massive paws pinned Onestar down by his shoulders.
“What’s happening?” Onestar gasped. “Darkkit, are you okay?”
Darkkit’s lips moved into an unpleasant smirk; he raised a paw with his claws unsheathed. “Did you think you’d gotten away with it?” he asked, and brought his paw sweeping down to slash at Onestar’s throat.
Onestar jolted awake and for a few heartbeats lay panting in his nest as the dream gradually lost its grip on him. Then he became aware of a commotion outside his den: yowls of terror or defiance; the screeching of cats in pain.
As he stumbled into the open, a white shape leaped at him, trying to carry him off his paws. Darkkit—here? Onestar wondered, bewildered. Am I still dreaming?
A sudden flash of memory came to him, of Stoneteller’s prophecy. You’ll know it when it comes hunting you.
Could this be it?
Trying to battle with the creature that was attacking him, Onestar gazed around and saw a whole crowd of Darkkits tussling with his warriors. How can that be? he asked himself. There’s only one Darkkit.
Then the last shreds of his dream fell away and he realized that the creatures were stoats; he had been confused by their white bodies and black tails.
No! They’re attacking the camp!
Chapter 18
Fully awake now, Onestar threw himself into the fight. The sleek, wiry stoats seemed to be everywhere, their white pelts gleaming in the moonlight, their eyes glittering with malice. More of them were pouring in over the edge of the hollow. They were smaller than the cats, but they were fast and vicious; Onestar realized that his Clan could soon be overwhelmed.
He lashed out to rake his claws down the side of the nearest stoat, then whirled to strike out at another with his hind legs; his blow landed on its belly as it sprang at him.
“Breezepelt! Harespring!” he yowled, calling to two of his strongest warriors, hoping that they might drive out the stoats if they worked together.
He spotted Harespring, almost buried under a writhing heap of stoats, with Weaselfur clawing at them in a frantic effort to help his Clanmate. But there was no sign of Breezepelt. Onestar’s belly lurched as he realized that he couldn’t see Heathertail, either.
Have they gone off together somewhere? Onestar asked himself as he struck out at yet another of the malignant creatures. Or is Heathertail . . . He couldn’t bring himself to use the word dead, even to himself.
A few days before, Onestar had sent Crowfeather into exile when the dark gray warrior had refused to obey his order to block up the tunnels where the stoats were living. He had begun to believe that Nightcloud was still alive, and he had wanted to go and look for her.
We could use Crowfeather now, Onestar thought ruefully. Three of WindClan’s best warriors were missing, leaving their Clan vulnerable when they were most needed.
Onestar let his fury build and flow out through his body in a ferocious attack on the invaders. He slashed his way through the thick of the battle, shrieks echoing in his ears, blood clogging his claws and trickling through his pelt.
In the middle of the turmoil he caught glimpses of his Clanmates: Leaftail shoving his apprentice, Oatpaw, into a bush and spinning around to strike out and protect the young cat; Kestrelflight tugging a fallen warrior—Onestar thought it was Crouchfoot—away from the battle toward the medicine cat’s den; Furzepelt and Larkwing fighting back to back. Through his rage Onestar felt a warm touch of pride at their courage and their skill.
Then he spotted two stoats wriggling their way through the crowd and heading straight for the elders’ den, where Whitetail was sleeping.
“No!” he yowled, hurling himself after them. “Turn and fight, mange-pelts!”
He didn’t think the stoats had heard him, but he caught them before they reached the gorse bush, and leaped onto the back of the one in the rear, digging his claws in and trying to get a grip on the creature’s neck. It went limp underneath him, but as he let it drop, it squirmed around and sank its fangs into his shoulder. At the same time, the second stoat slashed its claws all the way down Onestar’s side.
Onestar’s vision blurred. He heard Emberfoot screech, “Hold on! I’m coming!”
Too late . . . Onestar thought. Blinking painfully, he just made out the wedge-shaped head of the stoat looming over him, vicious triumph in its eyes. Then everything went dark.
Onestar opened his eyes in brilliant sunlight. He was lying on the springy moorland grass, and he could hear the gentle trickling of a small stream somewhere nearby. He took a deep breath and struggled to sit up.
Tallstar was standing a couple of tail-lengths away, with Mudclaw, Wrenflight, and Stagleap. Onestar felt a pulse of pure delight at seeing them, yet he knew why he was here.
“I’ve lost a life, haven’t I?” he rasped. Tallstar dipped his head, but when no cat spoke, Onestar continued, “I have to hurry back! I’m needed in the battle!”
“There’s time enough,” Tallstar assured him. “Before you go, we need to warn you of something. The dream you were having before the battle is just a taste of what’s to come.”
Onestar bit back a gasp of shock. “You know about the dream?”
“We’re StarClan. We know everything,” Mudclaw mewed drily; then, with a sidelong glance at Tallstar, he added hastily, “Almost everything.”
“You have unfinished business,” Tallstar told Onestar.
Mudclaw nodded agreement. “Yes. The past catches up with us.”
Onestar blinked uncomfortably. His dream had been about Darkkit; that must be the unfinished business Tallstar and Mudclaw were referring to. When Mudclaw was alive, Onestar had been afraid that he knew the secret of his relationship with Smoke. Now their leadership struggle was over; Onestar had won, and Mudclaw walked with StarClan.
That means he certainly knows my secret! Shame warmed Onestar’s pelt, and he found it hard to meet Mudclaw’s gaze. But I don’t know what I can do for Darkkit or Smoke now.
“It’s not too late,” Tallstar told him, almost as if he could read Onestar’s thoughts. “You must return.”
His last few words faded away, and the sunlit moorland vanished, leaving Onestar in darkness again. He could hear the groans and whimpers of injured cats, but none of the furious screeches that had filled the hollow during the battle.
He opened his eyes to find himself lying stretched out in his own den. He could smell the clean scent of marigold and realized that the wound on his side had been poulticed. From where he lay, he could see his warriors chasing the last few stoats out of the hollow; the floor of the camp was littered with their white bodies—and the bodies of WindClan cats.
He let out a gasp and tried to sit up. Immediately Whitetail appeared above him, pressing him gently back with a paw on his shoulder. “Lie still,” she murmured. “It’s all over.”
There was a patch of fur missing from Whitetail’s neck, and her pelt around it was matted with dried blood, but she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.
“How many dead?” Onestar asked hoarsely, dreading the reply.
“One,” Whitetail replied. “You. Some of the others have serious wounds, but Kestrelflight thinks that they’ll all recover, with care.”
Onestar drew a breath of relief; then his heart gave a jolt as he remembered. “Heathertail?” he asked.
Whitetail shook her head. “I don’t know, Onestar. She isn’t here, and neither is Breezepelt. Gorsetail and Hootpaw are missing, too.”
Onestar stared at her, hardly able to take in her news. His heart was fluttering uncomfortably like a bird trying to escape out of his throat. He knew Heathertail had wanted him to do more about the stoats, to join with ThunderClan to drive them out. But Onestar had refused, because he’d suspected Bramblestar of knowing his secret.
Have I sacrificed one kit because I hid the truth about the other? Or is something going on that I know nothing about?
While he was still confused, he heard Emberfoot’s voice raised from the far side of the camp. “Onestar! They’re back!”
This time Onestar insisted on getting up and emerging into the camp, Whitetail anxiously padding alongside him.
Approaching down the slope, with Crowfeather in the lead, were all the missing cats: Gorsetail and her apprentice, Hootpaw; Breezepelt; and Heathertail. And another cat with them that Onestar had never expected to see again.
Nightcloud! She’s alive! And Heathertail is safe.
For a moment Onestar couldn’t accept what was in front of him, his relief at seeing his daughter was so great. But as he stalked forward to meet the returning cats, he felt a sudden surge of optimism.
I’m alive. Whitetail and Heathertail are alive. And believe me, I will bring Crowfeather into line. Onestar thought back to what Tallstar had told him. Things will soon be right again in WindClan, so I’ll have time to turn to things I should have dealt with long ago. It’s not too late to do right by Smoke and Darkkit.
Chapter 19
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting!”
Onestar’s voice rang out across the camp. As he stood on the Tallrock, watching the Clan assemble, he reflected that on the whole, WindClan had been very lucky to get rid of the stoats with so few casualties. The wounds from that battle in the camp, and the later battle beside the tunnels with ThunderClan as their ally, had almost all healed. A moon later, life in the camp was returning to normal.
But Onestar knew that he still had work to do. His concern about Bramblestar maybe knowing his secret about Darkkit had almost cost the lives of his Clanmates, because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to accept ThunderClan’s help until it was almost too late.
It’s time to face my past, once and for all.
“Cats of WindClan,” he began when the cats were all sitting around the base of the Tallrock, “I’m troubled by Kestrelflight’s vision about the flooded tunnels. I’m not sure it was entirely about the stoats.”
So far what Onestar had said was true; he paused to take a breath, because what he was about to say was not true at all.
“I am going to travel to the Moonpool,” he announced. “I want to reflect on our future and commune with StarClan. I may stay away for several days, to find out whether our warrior ancestors can advise me about how to protect WindClan in the moons to come.”
Murmurs of surprise rose from the crowd of cats, but Onestar was pleased to see that most of them were nodding agreement. They might not be so approving if they knew what I’m really going to do, he thought wryly.
“Would you like me to go with you?” Kestrelflight asked.
Onestar shook his head. “No, you will surely be needed in the Clan. But I’d appreciate some traveling herbs.”
“Of course, Onestar.” The medicine cat headed for his den.
Onestar leaped down from the Tallrock and followed Kestrelflight to collect the herbs. The cats began to disperse, except for Heathertail and Breezepelt, who padded over to him side by side.
“Please be careful up there on the moor,” Heathertail meowed. “You never know what might be lurking outside Clan territories.”
That’s truer than she realizes, Onestar thought, knowing that he was about to undertake a journey far more perilous than his daughter imagined. Anxiety welled up inside him, not for himself, but for his kin and the Clan that he was abandoning. “And you take care, here at home,” he responded.
Heathertail glanced at Breezepelt, her eyes shining. “Breezepelt and I are mates now. We’ll take care of each other.”
“Breezepelt? Hmm . . .” Onestar flicked his ears at Breezepelt, who was looking smug and embarrassed, all at once. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his daughter taking up with a cat who had fought for the Dark Forest, and who until recently had seemed perpetually angry. But all that is over now, Onestar told himself. Many cats were deceived by the Dark Forest, and that’s all forgiven and forgotten. And Breezepelt is doing his best to deal with his anger.
“That’s good news,” he meowed at last, seeing a look of relief in Breezepelt’s eyes at his words. At least he’s a WindClan cat, he added to himself. He and Heathertail aren’t repeating their fathers’ mistakes.
When he had said his farewells, and licked up the bitter bunch of herbs Kestrelflight had prepared for him, Onestar left the camp and headed across the moor to the stream that formed the border with ThunderClan. He followed the stream up into the hills, the route he would have taken if he had really intended to go to the Moonpool. But once he had crossed the WindClan border markers, and was sure that he was well out of the way of border patrols, he veered around until he could leave Clan territories past the horseplace, retracing the route that the Clans had taken long ago on the Great Journey.
The old territories were far away, and Onestar was acutely aware of how long he would be absent. Forcing himself into a fast pace, thankful for the extra strength the traveling herbs gave him, he spent as little time as possible hunting and sleeping, but every paw step of his journey recalled his decision to abandon Smoke and Darkkit.
In such a hard time for the Clans, Onestar still believed that the kittypets would never have survived if they had joined WindClan on the Great Journey. They had been terribly upset to be left behind, but he knew he had been right to make them stay. It was harder to accept his decision not to go back for them as he had promised. He had convinced himself that they were better off in their Twolegplace, but now he could see that he had deceived himself. He had abandoned them so that he could move forward with his new life without feeling guilty.
Onestar still thought it was likely that Smoke and Darkkit had found new Twolegs and ended up as kittypets again, but now he admitted to himself that he had a duty to make sure. He hoped that if he could find them and see that they were safe and happy, then they could all part as friends.
And I’d really like to see Darkkit grown up. I want to know how my first kit turned out.
Onestar’s path led him into the mountains, a hard and grueling climb where prey was scarce and the sharp rocks tore his pads. Eventually he began to recognize his surroundings, and realized that he was traveling through the Tribe’s hunting grounds. Unsure whether to approach their cave, he found himself a spot behind a rock, sheltered from the icy wind, and gazed down into a narrow valley. Faintly in the distance he could hear the thunder of the waterfall.
