Onestar's Confession, page 26
“Smokekit! Smokekit!” he called, but there was no reply except for the echoes of his Clanmates’ voices.
Onestar was ready to despair when he heard Crowfeather’s voice raised from the direction of the stream that marked the ThunderClan border. “Over here!”
Onestar raced through the trees to his side; Breezepelt dashed up from farther downstream. Oatclaw and Sedgewhisker joined them a moment later.
Crowfeather was standing beside an elder bush that leaned out over the stream. As he drew closer, Onestar spotted Smokekit lying among the roots. Her gray fur was darkened by rain, plastered to her body so that she looked heartbreakingly tiny and vulnerable. At first, Onestar was afraid she was dead, his heart thumping painfully, until he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest.
“Smokekit! Smokekit!” Breezepelt bounded up to her and bent over her, covering her ears with frantic licks and stroking her with a paw that shook with relief. “Smokekit, wake up!”
Onestar bent his head to give the sleeping kit a thorough sniff, but the ThunderClan border markers on the far side of the stream—clearly renewed that morning after the rain—were strong enough to swamp anything else.
Smokekit’s eyes opened and she let out a tiny gasp. “Breezepelt!” she exclaimed, gazing up happily into Breezepelt’s eyes. “You found me!”
Breezepelt let out a long breath. “Yes, we found you. Everything’s okay now, Smokekit.”
“But what are you doing out here?” Onestar asked.
Smokekit blinked, bewildered; it took a few moments before she could wake up completely and tell her story. “I was asleep in the nursery,” she began, “but something woke me . . . a sound like a cat was hurt. I thought maybe it needed help, so I went out and followed the sound. I thought it was coming from outside the camp, so I climbed the slope. . . .”
“Oh, Smokekit!” Breezepelt breathed out.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Smokekit admitted. “I guess I should have woken up an older cat.”
“So what happened next?” Crowfeather asked.
“I’d just gotten to the top of the slope when something clamped its mouth around my neck and squeezed. I tried to call out, but I couldn’t.”
Onestar felt his heart jolt painfully. At first Smokekit’s story had sounded as if she might have just wandered off, but now it was obvious that something—or some cat—really had attacked her. Oh StarClan, that’s not good!
“A fox?” Sedgewhisker asked.
Smokekit shook her head. “I saw a flash of white fur, and then everything went dark. And I don’t remember anything else until I woke up here, with all of you around me.”
The kit’s story filled Onestar with apprehension. Her mention of white fur instantly brought Darktail back to his mind. There were no white predators in the forest; even the stoats had been gone for seasons—and in any case, their pelts wouldn’t have been white now, in early leaf-fall. And no other cat, not even a rogue, had any reason to steal a kit.
Could it have been Darktail? he wondered. He might have asked wandering rogues until he found someone who could tell him where to find the Clans . . . and find me.
Then, somehow, Darktail must have entered the WindClan camp, avoiding the warrior on guard, and managed to get so close to the nursery that he could lure one of the Clan’s most vulnerable members off into the forest.
If it was Darktail, why didn’t he kill Smokekit? Onestar asked himself. Then the answer came, even more chilling.
He hadn’t killed her, but he had choked her into unconsciousness to show how easily he could have killed her. Then he had left her for Onestar to find.
A deep shudder passed through Onestar from his ears to the tips of his claws. He could hardly bear to think about the horror that could have befallen his young kin—the horror she had already suffered—all to send him a message. His belly began to roil with apprehension as he thought about the questions his Clanmates were sure to ask.
Some of them met Smoke, and Darktail when he was a kit. Will any of them connect this white predator with the kit I left behind so long ago?
Onestar realized that he had been wrong when he’d assumed that his son would never be able to find WindClan. He was beginning to believe that Darktail had done just that.
Will my past go on stalking me forever, until at last it traps me?
“It could have been rogues,” Crowfeather mused. “We were here very early, before ThunderClan renewed their scent markers, and I’m sure I picked up that weird scent near this elder tree.”
“But the scent could be old,” Oatclaw argued. “Rogues pass by our borders all the time, after all.”
“That’s true,” Sedgewhisker agreed. “If rogues were responsible, we ought to be able to scent them on Smokekit, rain or no rain.” She bent her head and gave the kit a thorough sniff, then straightened up, shaking her head. “There’s something there, but I can’t say what. Smokekit is probably confused, and no cat can blame her for that. Maybe the stoats are back, and it was one of them that attacked her.”
“Yes, that must be it!” Onestar exclaimed, desperately wanting to believe Sedgewhisker’s words. But how could a stoat lure Smokekit out of camp? he wondered. And he had already realized that a stoat wouldn’t be white at this season. “They tried to take Smokekit as prey,” he asserted, “but something must have scared them off.”
Sedgewhisker and Oatclaw murmured agreement, and even Breezepelt seemed to accept the explanation, though Onestar noticed that Crowfeather was giving him a doubtful look.
“Breezepelt, you take Smokekit back to camp and have Kestrelflight check her out,” he meowed. “The rest of you can go with them. I’ll check the tunnels. If we do have stoats on the territory again, that’s probably where they’re hiding.”
“I’ll go with you, Onestar.” There was a sarcastic edge to Crowfeather’s voice. “With dangerous stoats on the loose, you shouldn’t go into the tunnels alone.”
Crowfeather must suspect me of something, Onestar thought, fighting panic. Could he know about Darktail? Others in the Clan did—Crowfeather’s mother did—so it’s possible.
But arguing with Crowfeather, Onestar knew, would just make him more suspicious. “Very well,” he mewed curtly, and led the way to the tunnels while Breezepelt and the others headed back to the camp.
When WindClan had first moved into the territory, the tunnels had been home to rabbits, but when the stoats invaded, they had either been killed or scared off. Even when the stoats were driven out, the rabbits had not returned, and now the tunnels were empty. When Onestar entered, with Crowfeather hard on his paws, there were no scents to pick up except for the sandy soil and the moorland vegetation drifting in from outside.
It’s obvious there are no stoats here, Onestar thought.
Even so, he kept on searching in side tunnels and the dens where rabbits, and then stoats, had cared for their young. He was desperately hoping that they might find a stoat or two, or recent traces of them, because that would be easier to deal with than the reappearance of Darktail.
Crowfeather padded after him in disapproving silence until they reached the place where the last light from the entrance faded away and the tunnel led on into darkness.
Here, Crowfeather halted. “What’s going on, Onestar?” he demanded. “If there were stoats here, the smell would have struck us by now. And I don’t think it was a stoat who took Smokekit. I’m not sure what it was, but I have a feeling that you know. Smokekit is safe, but you’re behaving like ants are crawling through your pelt. Is there anything you want to tell me?” The look he gave pierced Onestar to his depths. “I know some secrets are better off kept,” he continued, repeating the words Onestar had spoken to him so many seasons ago. “But if one becomes a burden, it might be easier to bear when it’s shared. And if your secret might endanger WindClan, shouldn’t you tell some cat the truth?”
How did that difficult young cat become so wise? Onestar wondered. For a moment he considered confiding in Crowfeather. Being Clan leader was lonely work, and he could use a friend, a cat he could trust. He hadn’t experienced that since his friendship with Firestar, before he ever became Clan leader. Maybe I would feel better. Crowfeather might even have an idea about how to deal with Darktail.
Then Onestar realized all over again that Smokekit could have died. If he told the truth, the Clan might blame him for keeping such a dangerous secret from them—a secret that put the safety of their kits at risk. No, he decided, I have to deal with this on my own. For now, I have to stick to my story.
“I don’t know what you’re meowing on about,” he told Crowfeather with an irritated twitch of his tail. “It must have been a stoat, and we should go on through the tunnels to ThunderClan so that we can warn them.”
Crowfeather let out a long sigh, clearly showing Onestar that he thought doing that would be pointless. “If that’s how you want to play it, fine,” he mumbled. “But some secrets have a way of revealing themselves.”
A chill crept over Onestar as he led the way into the darkness. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that Crowfeather was right. And if it turned out that Darktail had stolen Smokekit, he had no idea what his next move should be.
Emerging from the tunnels on the ThunderClan side, Onestar immediately picked up a strong, fresh scent. A moment later, Poppyfrost and Rosepetal padded into view from around a clump of ferns. Both she-cats were carrying prey. They approached warily when they spotted the WindClan cats; Onestar hoped they wouldn’t think he and Crowfeather were trespassing.
“Hi,” Onestar meowed, careful not to move away from the opening of the tunnel. “We’re just here to give you a message.”
Rosepetal set down the vole she was carrying. “Okay, spit it out,” she meowed.
“We have evidence that stoats might be moving back into our territory,” Onestar informed the ThunderClan warriors. “You should tell Bramblestar to keep a lookout.”
Rosepetal and Poppyfrost exchanged a surprised glance. “It’s a long time since we’ve seen any stoats,” Poppyfrost mewed. “But we’ll pass your message on.”
Onestar dipped his head. “Thank you.”
The two ThunderClan cats hurried on, while Onestar and Crowfeather turned back in to the tunnels. As they made their way toward their own territory, Onestar was aware of annoyance coming off Crowfeather in waves, like the scent of nearby prey. He knew that the younger warrior didn’t believe him, knew that he was only inventing the stoats’ return for some reason of his own.
Well, that’s just too bad, Onestar thought. Stoats or no stoats, WindClan’s safety is at stake, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.
As soon as he arrived back in camp, Onestar called Harespring to him. “We’ll keep an extra guard on the camp, and on the nursery, for the next couple of nights at least,” he instructed his deputy. “Something is going on, and until we know what it is, we can’t be too careful.”
Seeing Breezepelt sitting outside Kestrelflight’s den, Onestar padded over to him. “How is Smokekit?” he asked.
“Okay, I think,” Breezepelt replied, and added with a touch of his old resentment, “Kestrelflight threw me out so he would have enough room to work.”
Onestar touched the black warrior on his shoulder with the tip of his tail. “I’m sure that means there’s nothing to worry about.” I hope that’s true.
Slipping through the crack in the rock that led to Kestrelflight’s den, Onestar picked up the clean tang of marigold and saw the medicine cat trickling the juice into Smokekit’s scratches. Heathertail was crouching beside her kit, covering Smokekit’s ears with gentle licks.
“Is she badly hurt?” Onestar asked, with an uncomfortable squirming in his belly.
“No, she’ll be fine,” Kestrelflight assured him. “She has a few scratches and bruises, but that’s all. I’ll keep her here overnight, just to be sure.”
“Do I have to?” Smokekit complained. “I want to go and play with Brindlekit. I thought up this really cool game! I’m going to be a rogue sneaking into camp, and Brindlekit—”
“That’s enough!” Onestar interrupted. “A rogue sneaking into camp isn’t something to make a game of. But I don’t think you should keep her here, Kestrelflight,” he added to the medicine cat. “I’m going to have her spend the night in my den. If any stray stoat wants to get at her, it’ll have to go through me first.”
“Sleep in the leader’s den?” Smokekit’s eyes stretched wide, and she gave an ecstatic little wriggle. “Wait till I tell Brindlekit! She’ll be so jealous!”
Meanwhile, Heathertail and Kestrelflight were exchanging a puzzled glance. “That’s a bit unusual,” Kestrelflight commented, “for a kit to sleep in the leader’s den. Smokekit will be safe here in my den for tonight.”
“No, she stays with me,” Onestar insisted. “She will be safe—because I’m going to make sure of it!”
Chapter 23
Onestar kept up the extra guards around the camp for the next few days. He also sent out more patrols around the territory to look out for anything strange and to make sure that the border markers were always fresh and strong, offering a message to any rogues who might be wandering near the moor: This is WindClan territory, and you cannot enter uninvited. Every time he sent out a patrol, he noticed Crowfeather’s growing curiosity and frustration. Onestar didn’t dare confide in him; all he could do was ignore his penetrating gaze and the flexing of his claws.
He had also taken to hunting alone. “I need to clear my head,” he had explained to Whitetail when she wondered why he wouldn’t join a patrol, or at least go with another cat. “And I want to see if there are any changes to how the prey is running.”
But his real reason was his hope that if Darktail was stalking him, his son would approach while he was by himself, so Onestar could confront him without any of his Clanmates around. More than that, he hoped that Darktail didn’t approach him, so that he could convince himself that it was some unknown threat that had taken Smokekit.
A couple of days after Smokekit’s disappearance, Onestar was out on the moor before sunrise, the boggy scent of water filling his nostrils. It was quiet, and the prey was running well. To begin with, Onestar lost himself in tracking small creatures through the gorse and heather, until he ended up on the outskirts of the stretch of woodland where he and his Clanmates had found the missing kit.
Scratching at the earth underneath a tree to bury the mouse he had just killed, Onestar heard the crack of a branch above his head. He looked up to see the branch falling, rustling the leaves as it plunged through them, plummeting straight for his head. With only a heartbeat to spare, Onestar sprang aside and rolled clear, while the branch fell with a sickening thud right beside him.
While he was still on his back, Onestar glimpsed a flash of white darting through the upper branches of the tree. “Darktail!” he exclaimed, his voice a hoarse croak.
The flash was gone too quickly for him to be sure it was his son, but Onestar knew it would be mouse-brained to assume that what had happened was an accident. The branch was dead, easy enough for a powerful cat to tear away from the tree, and solid enough to have injured him badly or even killed him if he hadn’t been quick enough to dodge.
Could it really be Darktail? he asked himself. It was so unlikely that his son would ever find him. And if he had, why wouldn’t he confront Onestar, instead of playing these sickening games? Have I got bees in my brain? If it isn’t Darktail, what is it?
Onestar knew that if this was Darktail, his son was toying with him, just as if he were a mouse. What kind of cat would torment a cat he resented, instead of having it out face-to-face? Is that the sort of cat Darktail is?
Whoever it was, they wanted to terrify him, and Onestar had to admit to himself that so far the plan was working. He shivered as he scrambled up and shook debris out of his pelt, Stoneteller’s long-ago words rising to the surface of his mind. Only you can stop it, when it comes hunting you. . . . Clearly, something was hunting him now.
The Tribe’s healer had also told Onestar that solving the problem would come with a cost. But what if that cost is one I cannot pay? Onestar asked himself. My life? My kin’s?
Standing underneath the tree, his heart still pounding from his narrow escape, Onestar accepted that he needed help—more help than his Clanmates would be able to provide. I need StarClan.
Ordinarily, Onestar would have turned to his medicine cat to speak to StarClan for him and ask for guidance. But this wasn’t an ordinary problem, and Onestar wasn’t sure he could trust Kestrelflight with it. He remembered the medicine cat’s puzzled look when he’d said that Smokekit would sleep in the leader’s den. Kestrelflight clearly suspected that something was going on. If I told him the whole story, would he feel he had to tell the rest of the Clan? Onestar didn’t think so, but it was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take. He would have to embark on this mission alone.
Sunhigh was still a long way off. Immediately, Onestar plunged deeper into the woodland, until he reached the WindClan border markers. His pads prickled briefly with anxiety at the thought that once again his Clanmates might wonder where he had gone, but he knew he had to take the risk. Glancing swiftly around to make sure that no cat saw him, he headed upstream and crossed out of his Clan’s territory, on his way to the Moonpool.
At the end of the long trek into the hills it was a relief for Onestar to pad down the spiral path and settle himself on a flat stone at the water’s edge.
“I’m not a medicine cat,” he mewed aloud. “But my need is very great. Please, warriors of StarClan, help me and tell me what to do.”
Then he leaned over and touched his nose to the water. At once darkness gathered around him and a chill crept into the depths of his fur. The gentle splash of the waterfall died away; he couldn’t see or hear anything or even feel the stone where he crouched in the living world.
