River, page 5
One of the young cats he was sitting with turned to give him a curious stare. “What happened?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be a warrior along with them?”
“Yeah, what did you do?” another apprentice asked.
“It’s what I didn’t do,” Flamepaw explained bitterly, knowing that they would go on nagging him unless he told them something. “I was trying to catch a squirrel, and I failed my assessment because I couldn’t ricochet off a tree.”
Several snorts and mrrows of laughter greeted his words.
“Yeah, mouse-brain,” Graypaw, a RiverClan tom, scoffed. “You have to hunt the prey you can catch. Didn’t your mentor teach you that?”
“For StarClan’s sake, shut up!” A new voice broke into the conversation, sharp with annoyance.
Flamepaw turned his head to see a young brown-and-white tabby she-cat glaring at the apprentices. He didn’t recognize her, though he could pick up her ShadowClan scent.
“Just be quiet,” she went on. “Important things are happening in the Clans, and you’ll miss it all if you keep on teasing poor . . .” She shot Flamepaw an inquiring glance.
“Flamepaw,” he supplied.
The she-cat tilted her head, looking him up and down. “That’s a lovely name,” she mewed, “but you don’t really look like a Flamepaw, do you?”
Flamepaw’s gratitude to her abruptly died. He was about to say, I’m aware of that, in freezing tones, but the she-cat had already turned away and was paying attention to the Gathering again.
Bramblestar had ceded his place to Mistystar, who had padded almost to the end of her branch to address the Clans. Flamepaw hadn’t ever seen her as close as this, and he realized with a pang how old she was looking.
She’s one of the cats who fought in the Dark Forest, too, he thought wonderingly. How did she survive that?
In spite of her age, Mistystar’s voice was strong, ringing out across the clearing. “StarClan has sent RiverClan a new medicine-cat apprentice. Please welcome Frostpaw.”
Flamepaw looked across the clearing to where Mothwing sat among the other medicine cats; she was nudging a small light gray she-cat to her paws. The apprentice looked terrified at the clamor as the assembled cats called her name. “Frostpaw! Frostpaw!”
When the yowling had died down, Mistystar let her gaze travel around the clearing. “Cats of all Clans,” she began, “I know that we are all still reeling from the damage caused by Ashfur. But we must move on, and that brings me to an important matter. The Clan leaders and medicine cats have agreed on changes to the warrior code. The medicine cats will present the changes to StarClan at the next half-moon meeting.”
Flamepaw’s ears perked up; he was interested in spite of how miserable he felt. All of ThunderClan had talked about nothing but the code ever since the Lights in the Mist came back from speaking with StarClan. One of the changes, he knew, was to let cats change their Clan if they wanted to be mates with a cat from another Clan. Flamepaw barely knew any cats from the other Clans—certainly not well enough to want to be mates with them—but he still realized that this was a big deal.
“Any cat will now be able to change their Clan to live with a mate,” Mistystar continued. “I know some cats have done this before, but it often led to much conflict and heartbreak. Now there will be an official process to have their union accepted, by StarClan and the living Clans.”
“What sort of process?” some cat called from the crowd.
“I’m coming to that.” Mistystar’s tail twitched with impatience at the interruption. “First, the two cats must declare their intention at a Gathering. Then the cat who wishes to change Clans must perform a task of their intended Clan’s choosing, to prove that they are serious. If they succeed in this task, they will be allowed to change Clans.”
Mistystar had hardly finished speaking when a clamor broke out among the assembled cats.
“That’s too easy!” Flaxfoot of ShadowClan called out.
“Yeah!” Emberfoot of WindClan agreed. “We’ll end up with cats changing Clans if they just like the look of another cat. What if it doesn’t work out when they have to live together?”
A chorus of agreement greeted Emberfoot’s words, interrupted almost at once by Flamepaw’s Clanmate Poppyfrost.
“I don’t think the code should be changed at all,” she declared. “Cats from our own Clan should be good enough.”
“The Clan leaders have discussed this thoroughly,” Mistystar reminded the ThunderClan she-cat, an edge to her voice. “We have decided the code will be changed.”
More clamor, of agreement and protest, rose from the crowd of cats, only to die away as Rootspring sprang to his paws, his yellow pelt bristling.
“We need this change, and it’s right,” he meowed, his voice shaking with passion. “It might cause pain, sure, but it will prevent much more pain than it causes.”
The voices of the other cats gradually stilled. Every cat knew what Rootspring had suffered when Bristlefrost, the cat he loved, had died in the Dark Forest, with even her spirit lost forever so he could never hope to meet her again in StarClan. If changing Clans had been possible for them, they might have had moons to live together as mates, instead of wasting that time because neither cat could face betraying their Clan. They might even have had kits. Every cat felt massive respect for Rootspring, left behind to grieve after the horror he and Bristlefrost had endured.
A sudden idea darted into Flamepaw’s mind. “I know what we should do!” he called out. “What if it were harder for the cat leaving their Clan? What if they had to be demoted to apprentice or something?”
One of the apprentices sitting nearby turned to give Flamepaw a mocking look. “Sure, that’s the worst thing that can happen to any cat—right, Flamepaw?” he mewed snarkily.
The whole group descended into unkind snorts of laughter, while Flamepaw sat burning with shame and embarrassment.
“That’s enough,” Mistystar called from the Great Oak, authority in her voice. “The decision has been made. Moving on, we need to talk about how the Clans might depose a leader.”
She didn’t even acknowledge my suggestion, Flamepaw thought, feeling even more miserable. Why did I come to this Gathering at all?
“This is what the leaders and medicine cats decided,” Mistystar continued. “First, three-quarters of the Clan members must agree that the leader is harmful, and that number must include the Clan’s medicine cats. They will then present their case to the other leaders. If they agree, then the medicine cats will present the case to StarClan. If StarClan agrees, the leader’s remaining lives will be taken away, and nine lives will be given to the deputy, who will become the new leader.”
“Always the deputy?” some cat called.
“Of course,” Mistystar replied. “Who else should be chosen? This will not be a way for some ambitious cat to seize power. And,” she added, “for that reason, no deputy can be the cat who begins this process.”
Discussion broke out, mostly about the part StarClan would play and the transfer of the nine lives, but no cat seemed to be as passionately against it as they’d been about cats changing Clans. Flamepaw guessed the memory of Ashfur was too strong.
Losing interest, Flamepaw stopped listening. He thought the whole thing was pointless. How could you ever get that many cats to agree on anything? Even when Bramblestar, under the control of the impostor, had been at his worst, there’d still been cats in ThunderClan who’d defended him. Flamepaw wasn’t sure that three-quarters of the Clan would have agreed to get rid of him.
At last the Gathering drew to an end. Flamepaw realized that the proposed changes were going to be presented to StarClan in the way that Mistystar had outlined, even though many cats had objected.
Typical, he thought. The leaders want all the warriors to believe they matter, but the big decisions are always made by the five of them.
As the cats began to head out of the clearing toward the tree-bridge and their own territories, Flamepaw found Lilyheart padding along by his side. “Just so you know,” she murmured into his ear, “apprentices don’t usually speak at a Gathering.”
Flamepaw realized that she was embarrassed that he had spoken up with his idea about changing Clans. How mouse-brained is that! How are we supposed to solve any problem if only the older cats can speak?
But Flamepaw didn’t dare say any of that. Instead he just ducked his head. “Okay,” he muttered.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Lilyheart meowed. “We’ll do some battle training.” She whisked away through the bushes that surrounded the clearing.
Flamepaw lingered, hoping to avoid her and the new warriors who had been his denmates. When the clearing was almost empty and he thought it was safe to leave, he spotted Bramblestar, still standing at the foot of the Great Oak, gazing around as if he were lost.
It was hard for Flamepaw to understand his Clan leader, even though they were kin. Mostly Flamepaw had known him when he was possessed by the impostor Ashfur, and now that Bramblestar had returned to his own body, he seemed more plodding and pensive than a Clan leader ought to be.
After a moment, when Bramblestar still didn’t move, Flamepaw padded over to him. “Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly.
Bramblestar blinked slowly, as if he had just awoken from sleep. “What? Oh—yes, Flamepaw, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
Flamepaw thought he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as any cat. “Alderheart was here,” he meowed. “I could fetch him for you.”
The ThunderClan leader gave his pelt a rapid shake. “No, thank you, Flamepaw. I really am fine. It’s just strange sometimes—being back. I find myself disappearing into memory.”
“Yeah,” Flamepaw agreed. “Sometimes it’s strange even when you’ve been here the whole time.”
Bramblestar’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “I suppose it must be. Come on, let’s go home.”
He and Flamepaw were the last two cats to cross the tree-bridge. Flamepaw was surprised that his leader kept walking beside him as they headed around the lake, laying his tail over Flamepaw’s back.
“You will try your hardest at your next assessment, won’t you?” Bramblestar asked. “I know you have what it takes to be a strong ThunderClan warrior. For one thing,” he added with a sidelong, teasing glance, “it’s in your blood.”
“I will try,” Flamepaw promised. “I really want to be strong for my Clan.” His voice broke on the last few words, and he realized it was true. Despite all his problems, he still wanted very much for ThunderClan to be the Clan that most of his Clanmates seemed to think it was. And he wanted to be an important part of it.
“I know you do,” Bramblestar purred, his paw steps suddenly seeming lighter. “And I’m sure you will.”
Chapter 5
Frostpaw crouched outside the warriors’ den, sharing a vole with her mother, Curlfeather. A stiff breeze was blowing across the RiverClan camp, sending puffs of white cloud scudding across the sky. The air was filled with the scent of water and the soft gurgling of the streams that surrounded the camp.
“I was so proud of you last night,” Curlfeather mewed between bites. “My daughter, a real medicine cat! All the Clans were cheering for you.”
“It was a little scary,” Frostpaw confessed.
“Nonsense!” Curlfeather’s tone was bracing. “You deserved it.”
Frostpaw didn’t reply, just tucked into her vole. She knew that her mother didn’t like it when she seemed nervous about her new place in the Clan. She expects so much of me, she thought. I hope I can make her proud.
While they were eating, Reedwhisker emerged from the warriors’ den and bounded over to the group of warriors lounging around the fresh-kill pile. “Hunting patrol,” he announced cheerfully. “Fognose, Podlight, Splashtail, you’re with me.”
The cats he had named rose to their paws and headed toward the camp entrance.
“Curlfeather, I’ll take you, too,” Reedwhisker added as he passed the spot where Frostpaw and her mother were eating together.
“Okay.” Curlfeather took a last bite of vole and rose to her paws, swiping her tongue around her jaws. “Lead on, Reedwhisker.”
Frostpaw watched her mother as she joined the patrol, and didn’t realize that Mothwing had padded up to join her until the medicine cat spoke.
“Why do I have to come looking for you?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be dawdling over your prey when there could be cats in our den who need healing.”
“I wasn’t—” Frostpaw began to defend herself.
“Mothwing is right,” Curlfeather turned back to interrupt. “Off you go. Your skills are important, and your Clan needs you!”
Feeling a bit ruffled, Frostpaw abandoned the rest of the vole and began following Mothwing. Mistystar, sitting outside her den with her paws tucked under her, gave Frostpaw an encouraging nod as she and Mothwing padded in front of her.
But before the two cats could reach the top of the bank above the medicine-cat den, Brackenpelt brushed angrily past them, almost knocking Frostpaw off her paws. Turning back, Frostpaw saw her halt in front of Mistystar, her tortoiseshell fur fluffed out in annoyance.
“Mistystar, tell us how you really feel about changes to the code,” she demanded. “If StarClan made you leader,” she continued when Mistystar did not respond, “how can any cat take that away? After all that you’ve led the Clan through, how does it feel to know that we could start conspiring to get rid of you?”
“Yes,” the elder Mosspelt, who was grooming herself nearby, agreed. “It all sounds very odd. Are we supposed to believe that what happened in the Dark Forest justifies all these changes?”
Mothwing had not moved, watching the scene with a disturbed look in her amber eyes. Frostpaw stayed by her side; she had thought this had been settled at the Gathering the night before, but obviously she had been wrong. That’s really weird, she thought. Are cats really allowed to argue with our leader like this?
Mistystar rose to her paws and lashed her tail at her Clanmates’ complaints, clearly struggling to hold on to her composure. Instead of answering Brackenpelt and Mosspelt, she leaped up onto the tree stump she used to address the Clan and opened her jaws in a commanding yowl.
“Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words!”
Most of the Clan was already in the clearing; more cats appeared from the warriors’ den, and one or two brushed through the brambles that surrounded the camp, coming from the direction of the lake.
“It’s a pity Reedwhisker just left on that patrol,” Mothwing murmured to Frostpaw. “Mistystar might need his support.”
When the rest of the Clan was assembled, sitting in a ragged circle around the Highstump, Mistystar continued. “We must discuss this,” she told her Clan. “Mosspelt, I understand this is a lot to take in, but I’ve explained to you many times what took place in the Dark Forest. Is it that you and the others don’t understand what happened? Or don’t you believe me?”
Frostpaw saw Mosspelt hunch her shoulders, the tip of her tail twitching uneasily. She thought that the elder didn’t like being put on the spot like that, in front of so many of her Clanmates. “It’s just . . . too big a change,” she mewed, glancing around at the others.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Mistystar,” Duskfur spoke up. “But in the past, when something so important happened that we changed the warrior code because of it, it was in the open for all cats to see. It’s hard to understand how this happened and only five living cats saw it.”
“Why do you think I would lie to you?” Mistystar asked, her voice strained.
“Not lie . . . ,” Mosspelt protested. “We know you’re not a liar. But . . . maybe the other cats had their own ideas, and convinced you that changes were needed.”
“That’s possible,” Havenpelt pointed out. “Rootspring and Crowfeather both loved cats outside their own Clans. As did Graystripe, when he was alive.”
“Yes, and Shadowsight’s parents started life in separate Clans,” Owlnose added. “If it comes to that, Mistystar, you’re a half-Clan cat yourself.”
Mistystar swiveled her head around and fixed Owlnose with a blue glare. “I refuse to take responsibility for something that happened before I was born,” she snapped. “My parentage was never a problem for Leopardstar when she made me her deputy. And clearly it was not a problem for StarClan when they gave me my nine lives and my name. Or do you think you know better than StarClan, Owlnose?”
“Mistystar, I never said—” Owlnose began to protest.
Frostpaw could see that Mistystar was growing upset, her shoulder fur rising and her tail beginning to twitch. She was also panting a bit, as though she were struggling to get air. Frostpaw opened her jaws to interrupt, but Duskfur spoke before she could get started.
“Is it possible that some of these changes weren’t needed, but were only wanted by some of these cats?” the brown tabby she-cat suggested.
Mistystar’s blue eyes flashed with anger. “Are you including me?” she demanded. “Do you think I’ve been lying to you? Or are you questioning my judgment? Haven’t I always been a loyal warrior, living my life by the code and leading my Clan accordingly?”
“Of course,” Shimmerpelt mewed in a soothing tone. “But look at ThunderClan, for example. That whole mess they got into with Ashfur and Bramblestar. Of course they would think they need a way to get rid of a leader. But that would never happen in RiverClan, because you are a true and just leader, Mistystar, with StarClan’s blessing!”
Mistystar flicked an ear, looking uncomfortable. “That is kind of you,” she said, “but I’m not sure I agree that RiverClan is above this sort of trouble. If we’d had a rule like this, perhaps Leopardstar would never have succeeded in joining us to TigerClan.”
Shimmerpelt shifted awkwardly. “Well, yes. But that was then. We’ve learned our lessons, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Owlnose agreed, his brown tabby fur beginning to bristle. “And if the Clans make these changes for ThunderClan, they might endanger RiverClan sometime in the future. What’s to stop one Clan deposing another Clan’s leader, to grab power?”
