The Forgotten Warrior

  His eyes opened in a sun-filled forest, where thick foliage rustled above his head and the undergrowth was filled with the murmurings of prey. Jayfeather padded through the ferns, enjoying the cool grass beneath his pads and the warmth of sunbeams that struck down through the canopy. All his senses were alert as he searched for one particular cat.

  Soon he heard a rush of paws, a pounce, and a hiss of disappointment. “Mouse dung! I missed it!”

  Heading in the direction of the voice, Jayfeather bounded around a tree stump and burst into a sun-dappled clearing. Cinderheart was standing at the foot of a tree, looking up with a disgusted expression on her face. On a branch above her head a squirrel was chattering crossly.

  “Bad luck,” Jayfeather meowed.

  Cinderheart started. “Wow! Jayfeather—I didn’t expect to see you here.” A fearful look flickered in her eyes. “I am still dreaming, right? I’m not in StarClan?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jayfeather reassured her. “This isn’t StarClan. Everything’s fine, and yes, you are dreaming. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Cinderheart faced him warily. “What is it?”

  For a moment Jayfeather stood in silence, not sure where to begin. Get on with it! he told himself. You started this, so you’d better finish it. “It will be easier if I show you,” he mewed aloud. “Come with me.”

  He set off with Cinderheart padding at his shoulder. Jayfeather pictured in his head the old ThunderClan camp, with the former cats leading their busy everyday lives. Gradually as they passed through the trees the old forest took shape around them. A stream appeared, splashing beneath arching fronds of bracken, and a jay swooped out of the branches of an oak tree. Jayfeather heard a gasp from Cinderheart as she realized that she had somehow left the territory of her dream and was on unfamiliar ground.

  A patrol flashed through the undergrowth a couple of fox-lengths away; Jayfeather recognized younger versions of Firestar, Graystripe, and Sandstorm. Turning to follow, he saw them halt at the foot of a tree where a young gray she-cat was gathering celandine.

  “Picking flowers again?” Sandstorm teased.

  The young she-cat flicked her tail. “Flowers and leaves,” she replied, unruffled, though her blue eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Do you have a problem with that, Sandstorm? Because if you do, you’d better take it up with Yellowfang.”

  Sandstorm took a pace back, shaking her head. “Anything but that!” she yelped in mock alarm.

  “Yeah, she doesn’t want to get her ears clawed,” Graystripe meowed.

  “Why don’t we keep on hunting?” Firestar suggested. “Maybe we’ll catch something good and fat for Yellowfang to put her in a good mood for once. You’re doing a great job,” he added to the gray she-cat as he led the patrol away.

  “Make it a squirrel!” the she-cat called after them. “That’s Yellowfang’s favorite at the moment!”

  Jayfeather was aware of Cinderheart standing beside him, her pelt bristling as she stared in astonishment. “That . . . that’s me,” she stammered. “I mean, it’s not, but it looks just like me.”

  “No, it’s not you,” Jayfeather responded. “At least, not then.”

  Cinderheart shot him a baffled look, but said no more.

  When she had collected enough celandine, Cinderpelt picked up the bundle in her jaws and headed off, limping heavily. Jayfeather and Cinderheart followed. The medicine cat apprentice wove her way confidently through the undergrowth until she came to the head of the ravine that led down to the camp.

  “Does she know we’re following her?” Cinderheart whispered.

  Jayfeather shook his head. “She can’t see us. We aren’t really here.”

  Cinderpelt padded down the ravine and vanished into the gorse tunnel. Jayfeather and Cinderheart followed and soon they emerged into the old ThunderClan camp. Jayfeather’s gaze swept the clearing, taking in the dens, the fresh-kill pile, and the Highrock where the Clan leader’s den was. Not Firestar, Jayfeather reminded himself. He’s not Clan leader yet.

  “This is so weird . . .” Cinderheart murmured.

  They padded behind Cinderpelt as she carried her bundle of herbs through the ferns and into the medicine cat’s den. Yellowfang sat in the smaller clearing, looking just as scrawny and ungroomed as she did whenever Jayfeather met her in StarClan.

  “That’s a good bundle,” Yellowfang praised her apprentice gruffly, trudging over to sniff the celandine. “Some of the leaves are a bit wilted, though.”

  “They’ll be fine if we use those first,” Cinderpelt pointed out.

  Yellowfang snorted. “All right. Put them away and then come over here.”

  While Cinderpelt stowed the celandine in a cleft in the rock at the back of the den, Yellowfang padded over to a clump of ferns a couple of tail-lengths away. For the first time Jayfeather saw that a large white tom was sitting among the ferns, his fur rumpled and a look of pain in his eyes.

  “Whitestorm had an argument with a bramble thicket,” Yellowfang rasped as Cinderpelt returned. “He has a thorn in his paw. What do you think we should do for him?”

  “Advise him to stay away from brambles,” Cinderpelt meowed, provoking a snort of amusement from the white tom. “But for now, we need to get the thorn out, tell him to give the paw a good lick, and rub it with marigold to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  “Quite right.” Yellowfang gave a nod of satisfaction.

  “I have a good mentor!” Cinderpelt responded, warmth in her blue eyes.

  Yellowfang gave her an affectionate nudge, but all she said was, “Better get on with it, then.”

  “Whoever she is, she’s a great medicine cat,” Cinderheart commented, as Cinderpelt bent her head over Whitestorm’s paw and swiftly extracted the thorn with her teeth.

  “Yes, she was,” Jayfeather agreed.

  “Did you know her?” Cinderheart asked curiously, her gaze still fixed on the gray cat.

  “Not then. This was before ThunderClan came to the lake.”

  Cinderheart turned to gaze at him, her eyes as big as moons. “So this is ThunderClan in the past? Is that why Firestar and the others look so much younger? But how . . . why . . . ?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Jayfeather reassured her. “Just keep watching. That medicine cat apprentice is called Cinderpelt.” He felt a pulse of shock run through Cinderheart as she heard the name that was so like her own, but she didn’t interrupt him. “She wanted to be a warrior just like you,” he continued, “but she was injured before she finished her training. Did you notice that she limps? Her leg will never heal properly. She knew she would never be able to keep up with patrols, so she became a medicine cat instead. She taught Leafpool, you know.”

  “Wow . . .” Cinderheart breathed. “I’ve heard about her. Didn’t she die saving my mother?”

  “Her death meant more than that,” Jayfeather replied, though he didn’t explain any further. She’ll find out soon enough.

  While they were speaking, white mist drifted out of the ferns, wreathing around them until it blotted out the medicine cats’ den.

  “What’s happening?” Cinderheart whimpered.

  “It’s okay,” Jayfeather repeated. “Just wait.”

  After a few heartbeats the mist cleared. The two cats were standing on a hillside, where rough moorland grass swept upward to huge peaks of gray stone. A long line of cats was trekking across it, their fur buffeted by the wind. Cats from all four Clans—long-legged WindClan, broad-shouldered ThunderClan, sleek-furred RiverClan, and lean ShadowClan—walked side by side, talking quietly.

  “It’s the Great Journey!” Cinderheart exclaimed. “They’re heading for the mountains. Jayfeather, why are you showing me this?”

  “You’ll find out,” Jayfeather promised. “Look, there’s Cinderpelt again. She’s the only medicine cat in ThunderClan now.”

  Padding closer, Jayfeather saw that Mousefur—a younger, stronger Mousefur, before she retired to the elders’
den—was talking to Cinderpelt.

  “My paws hurt,” she was complaining. “It’s walking over all these sharp stones that does it. It’s not natural for cats.”

  “I’m sure we’ll rest soon,” Cinderpelt replied sympathetically. “When we do, I’ll bring you some dock leaves to rub on your pads. You’ll find that helps a lot.”

  Mousefur gave her a brusque nod and limped on. Heartbeats later, a mottled brown kit bounced up to Cinderpelt and announced, “I’ve got burrs in my fur!”

  That must be Applefur, Jayfeather thought, recognizing a tiny version of the ShadowClan warrior.

  “Oh, it’s Applekit!” Cinderpelt yelped with mock astonishment. “I thought for a heartbeat there was a giant burr chasing me. Never mind. When we stop, I’ll help you untangle them. Until then, watch where you’re putting your paws.”

  “Thank you!” Applekit charged off toward her littermates.

  Not watching out at all, Jayfeather thought, unsurprised.

  Cinderpelt watched the kit go, her head tilted and amusement glimmering in her blue eyes, then returned to the weary toil up the slope. As the cats drew closer to the cliff face, a few snowflakes began to drift down. A wind rose, and soon they were struggling through a blizzard. Jayfeather lost sight of the other cats, and could barely make out Cinderheart fighting her way forward against the wind.

  “Over here!” Jayfeather recognized Firestar’s voice. “Every cat shelter under the cliff!”

  Together Jayfeather and Cinderheart huddled together in the lee of the gray rocks, at the edge of their Clanmates. The whole world seemed to be full of whirling white flakes. Even the sound of the other cats was lost in the whining of the wind.

  Suddenly everything was quiet. The falling snow died away and seemed to melt into the earth. Abruptly the air grew warmer. Jayfeather looked around and realized that he and Cinderheart were back in the stone hollow, crouched against the thorn barrier.

  “Oh!” Cinderheart sighed, disappointment in her voice. “Are we back home already?”

  “Not quite,” Jayfeather warned.

  His words were hardly out when darkness fell over the clearing. Jayfeather heard a grumbling roar growing closer through the trees. Along with it came the sound of trampling, as if twigs were breaking under heavy paws.

  “What is it?” Cinderheart gasped.

  Before Jayfeather could reply the thorns beside them gave way and badgers erupted into the camp. Warriors surged out of their den to meet them: Jayfeather spotted Squirrelflight hurling herself at one of the leading badgers, with Brambleclaw and Cloudtail just behind her. Firestar let out a yowl of defiance as he plunged into the fight with Dustpelt, Sandstorm, and Thornclaw. Spiderleg and Ashfur were attacking one of the huge creatures together, darting in from both sides to confuse it.

  Cinderheart let out a screech of terror. “Jayfeather! What’s happening?”

  “It’s okay,” Jayfeather reassured her, thrusting her to one side. “They can’t hurt us.” At least, I hope they can’t.

  A horror-struck shriek sounded from the nursery, rising above the clamor from the fighting cats.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jayfeather murmured to Cinderheart. “There’s one more thing you have to see. Follow me.”

  He led the way across the clearing to the nursery, slipping between the battling shapes that appeared without warning out of the darkness. Squirrelflight lay panting across the entrance, wounded but still guarding the nursery from attack. Jayfeather and Cinderheart passed straight through, somehow without disturbing her.

  The nursery was crowded. At the far side, Sorreltail was lying in a mossy nest, her belly heaving as she struggled to give birth. Cinderpelt crouched beside her, gently stroking her belly with one paw. But a badger loomed over both of them, its jaws parted in a threatening snarl. As it raised a paw to swipe at Sorreltail, Cinderpelt turned and sprang between them. The badger’s claws slashed down her side; blood welled out as she collapsed.

  “Oh, no—no!” Cinderheart whispered.

  Jayfeather was vaguely aware of Leafpool and Crowfeather bursting into the den and attacking the badger, driving it out into the clearing. All his attention was fixed on Cinderpelt. Blood still gushed from her side; she was struggling to breathe, and as Leafpool returned she managed to gasp out a few words before her eyes closed and she went limp.

  Behind her in the nest, a tiny kit gave its first thin cry.

  Cinderheart’s eyes were wide with horror. “She can’t be dead,” she breathed. “Jayfeather, tell me she’ll be okay.”

  “Look at the kit,” was all that Jayfeather said.

  Sorreltail was licking the newborn kit with strong, rasping strokes of her tongue. Its gray fur stuck up in tiny spikes. Its delicate nose, the shape of its head, the set of its stubby tail were all echoed in the cat that stood beside Jayfeather.

  “That’s me,” Cinderheart murmured in amazement. “That’s how I was born.”

  “Yes,” Jayfeather mewed.

  Cinderheart turned stricken eyes on him. “Then Cinderpelt gave her life to save mine.”

  “Not exactly.” Jayfeather tensed.

  Cinderheart blinked in confusion. “But you said she died!”

  “Only for a heartbeat,” Jayfeather replied. “And then she was given a whole new life.”

  Cinderheart stared at him and he saw the moment when understanding flashed into her eyes. Her voice was scarcely audible, no more than a breath. “And that life was . . . me.”

  Jayfeather nodded. A spiraling flock of emotions was chasing through Cinderheart’s eyes: horror, shock, pride, and then memories upon memories, thicker than falling leaves.

  “I’m an apprentice . . . and Fireheart’s my mentor . . . he’s such a great teacher!” Cinderheart’s words were coming so fast that Jayfeather could hardly make them out. The she-cat’s flanks twitched as Cinderpelt’s long-buried memories surged through her like a river in full flood. “Hunting’s such fun . . . and fighting . . . I want to be the best warrior in the Clan!”

  Then she let out a screech of fear and pain. “The monster . . . no . . . oh, my leg hurts . . . I’ll never be a warrior. But I’ll learn all the herbs . . . marigold for infection, borage leaves for fever, juniper for bellyache, catmint for whitecough and greencough . . . what are the traveling herbs? Sorrel, daisy, chamomile . . . oh, and burnet! Must get it right . . .” Her voice took on a note of deep sadness. “Yellowfang is gone! And now I’m the only medicine cat . . . It’s so cold here, by the Moonstone. Fireheart is so still . . . maybe he’s dead. Will StarClan really give him his nine lives?”

  Cinderheart began to pant hard, as if she were struggling up a steep slope; then she let out a little cry of wonder and joy. “The lake . . . it’s so beautiful! Oh, StarClan, thank you for leading us here.” Then the sadness came back, threaded through with a note of fear. “Is that truly my destiny? And Leafpool wants to leave us . . . what will become of my Clan?”

  At last Cinderheart was silent, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In the ruins of the nursery she stared at Jayfeather. “Who am I?” she wailed. “What am I supposed to be?”

  Jayfeather stepped forward until he could look down into her distraught blue eyes. “You are Cinderheart,” he insisted. “That is your destiny. StarClan chose to let you live again so that you could follow your first path, to be a great warrior, to have a mate and kits of your own, to fight and hunt for your Clan after caring for them so long from the medicine cat’s den.” He took a deep breath. “Honor StarClan for their decision,” he went on, “and be proud of everything you have achieved in both of your lives. This is all your destiny, Cinderheart.”

  “Are you sure?” Cinderheart whispered.

  Jayfeather nodded. “StarClan chose that you should be a warrior this time.”

  “Who else knows?” Cinderheart asked.

  “Only Leafpool,” Jayfeather told her. “No other cats need to know. You are not an echo of Cinderpelt, you are your own cat now. Your Clanmates know you and lo
ve you as Cinderheart, which is all the truth they need.”

  Cinderheart sighed and gazed around at the nursery; it was still and silent now, as if it were drawing away to a great distance. Slowly she padded over to Cinderpelt’s body, and licked the dead medicine cat’s ears. “I will never forget who I was before,” she murmured. “Thank you for living my first life.”

  Jayfeather moved to her side and touched his tail-tip to her shoulder. “Come,” he meowed. “It’s time to go home.”

  Chapter 18

  Ivypool opened her eyes in the Dark Forest to the sound of flying paw steps. She flinched backward to avoid a collision and found herself staring into Breezepelt’s amber eyes.

  “Get out of my way, mange-pelt,” he snarled, and ran on.

  Recovering her footing, Ivypool realized that she was surrounded by cats, all streaming past her, brushing through the undergrowth in the pale, sickly light. She recognized cats from all four Clans, seasoned warriors and young apprentices, as far as she could see through the dingy trees.

  A call rang out in Brokentail’s rasping voice. “Let all cats old enough to kill their own enemies gather here!”

  Ivypool gulped. That was a far more dreadful summons than she was used to hearing from a Clan leader. At the same moment Hollowflight rushed up to her.

  “Come on!” the young warrior gasped. “Something’s happening!”

  He dashed on through the trees with Ivypool hard on his paws, joining the mass of cats. They were all intent on reaching the same place, all running in silence with somber expressions.

  Great StarClan! Ivypool thought. There are so many of us!

  At last she burst out into the clearing with the heap of fallen trees where she had once fought Antpelt. The crowd of cats massed around the tree trunks; Brokenstar stood on the topmost trunk, with Mapleshade and Tigerstar and two or three other cats unknown to Ivypool, even fainter shadows than Mapleshade. She shivered at the hungry glitter in their eyes.

  Hawkfrost was pacing at the foot of the heap, in the place a Clan deputy would take. Ivypool spotted Darkstripe, too, crawling up on his belly and gazing up at the leaders with adoration in his eyes.