“Two of them?” Fireheart was startled. “You mean there were more than two?”
“There were three.” Bluestar bowed her head; her mew was scarcely audible. “The third kit was too weak to cope with the journey. He died with me, by the river.”
“What did you tell the rest of the Clan?” Fireheart thought back to the Gathering, when Patchpelt had said only that Bluestar had “lost” her kits.
“I…I made it look as if they had been taken from the nursery by a fox or a badger. I tore a hole in the nursery wall just before I left, and when I came back, I said that I had been hunting and had left my kits sleeping safely.” Her whole body trembled, and Fireheart could tell that confessing to this lie was causing Bluestar more pain than losing a life.
“Every cat searched,” she went on. “And I searched too, even though I knew there was no hope of finding them. The Clan was devastated for me.” She dropped her head onto her paws. Forgetting for a moment that she was his leader, Fireheart crossed the floor of the den and gave Bluestar’s ears a gentle lick.
Once again he remembered his dream, and the faceless queen who had faded away, leaving her kits to cry for her. He had thought the queen was Silverstream, but now he realized she was Bluestar as well. The dream had been both prophecy and Clan memory. “Why are you sharing this with me?” he asked.
When Bluestar looked up, Fireheart could hardly bear to see the sorrow in her eyes.
“For many seasons I put the kits out of my mind,” she answered. “I became deputy, and then leader, and my Clan needed me. But lately, with the floods, and the danger to RiverClan—and your discoveries, Fireheart, making me hear again what I knew very well already…And now another pair of kits who are half RiverClan, half ThunderClan. Perhaps this time I can make better decisions.”
“But why tell me?” Fireheart repeated.
“Perhaps after so long I want a cat to know the truth,” meowed Bluestar with a slight frown. “I think you of all cats might understand, Fireheart. Sometimes there are no right choices.”
But Fireheart was not sure that he understood at all. His mind was whirling. On one paw he could picture the young warrior, Bluefur, fiercely ambitious, determined to do the best for her Clan, even if it meant unimaginable sacrifices. On the other, he saw a mother grieving for the kits she had abandoned so long ago. And what was probably more real to him than either, the gifted leader who had done what she felt was best and borne the pain of it alone.
“I won’t tell another cat,” he promised, realizing how much she must trust him to have revealed her secrets to him like this.
“Thank you, Fireheart,” she replied. “There are difficult times ahead of us. The Clan doesn’t need more trouble.” She rose to her paws and stretched as if she had been curled up in a long sleep. “Now I must speak with Tigerclaw. And you, Fireheart, had better go and find your friend.”
The sun was beginning to sink, turning the river into a ribbon of reflected fire, as Fireheart returned to the Sunningrocks. Graystripe crouched beside a patch of freshly turned earth at the top of the riverbank, his gaze fixed on the blazing water.
“I buried her on the shore,” he whispered as Fireheart padded up and sat down beside him. “She loved the river.” He raised his head to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear. “She hunts with StarClan now,” he mewed softly. “Someday I’ll find her again, and we’ll be together.”
Fireheart was unable to speak. He pressed himself more closely to Graystripe’s side, and the two cats crouched there in silence as the bloodred light faded.
“Where did you take the kits?” Graystripe meowed at last. “They should have been buried with her.”
“Buried?” Fireheart echoed. “Graystripe, didn’t you know? The kits are alive.”
Graystripe stared at him, jaws gaping, his golden eyes beginning to glow. “They’re alive—Silverstream’s kits—my kits? Fireheart, where are they?”
“In the ThunderClan nursery.” Fireheart gave him a quick lick. “Goldenflower is suckling them.”
“But she won’t keep them—will she? Does she know they’re Silverstream’s?”
“The whole Clan knows,” Fireheart told him reluctantly. “Tigerclaw saw to that. But Goldenflower doesn’t blame the kits, and neither does Bluestar. They’ll be cared for, Graystripe; they really will.”
Graystripe scrambled to his paws, moving stiffly after his long vigil. He looked doubtfully at Fireheart, as if he couldn’t believe that ThunderClan would really accept the kits. “I want to see them.”
“Come on, then,” mewed Fireheart, feeling a surge of relief that his friend felt ready to face the Clan again. “Bluestar sent me to bring you home.”
He led the way through the darkening forest. Graystripe padded after him, but he kept casting glances back, as if he couldn’t bear to leave Silverstream behind. He did not speak, and Fireheart let him be silent with his memories.
When they reached the camp, the curious murmuring groups of warriors and apprentices had broken up, and everything looked normal for a warm newleaf evening. Brackenfur and Dustpelt crouched by the nettle patch, sharing a piece of fresh-kill, and outside the apprentices’ den Thornpaw and Brightpaw were rolling around in a play fight while Swiftpaw looked on. Tigerclaw and Bluestar were nowhere to be seen.
Fireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted Graystripe left alone, at least until he had visited the kits, without being troubled by blame or hostility from his fellow warriors.
Then, on their way to the nursery, they passed Sandstorm. She halted abruptly, glancing from Fireheart to Graystripe and back again.
“Hi,” Fireheart mewed, trying to sound as friendly as he always did. “We’re going to visit the kits. See you in the den later?”
“You can,” Sandstorm growled, with a glare at Graystripe. “Just keep him away from me, that’s all.” She stalked off, her head and tail held high.
Fireheart’s heart sank. He remembered how hostile Sandstorm had been to him when he first joined the Clan. It had taken her a long time to thaw toward him. How long would it be before she would treat Graystripe as a friend again?
Graystripe flattened his ears against his head. “She doesn’t want me here. No cat does.”
“I do,” Fireheart meowed, hoping he sounded sufficiently encouraging. “Come on; let’s go and see your kits.”
CHAPTER 24
Fireheart leaped from one stepping-stone to the next across the swiftly flowing river. The floodwater had retreated and the stones were clearly visible again. It was the day after Silverstream had died; the sky was gray with a thin drizzle of rain, as if StarClan were mourning her too.
Fireheart was on his way to take the news of Silverstream’s death into RiverClan, although he had not sought Bluestar’s permission first. He had slipped away without telling any cat because he thought Silverstream’s Clan had the right to know what had happened to her. And he suspected that not every cat in ThunderClan would agree with him.
Reaching the opposite bank, Fireheart stood with his head raised, tasting the air for fresh scents. He caught one almost at once, and a heartbeat later a small tabby tom appeared from the ferns above the path.
He hesitated, looking startled, before sidling down the bank to confront Fireheart. “You’re Fireheart, aren’t you?” he meowed. “I recognize you from the last Gathering. What are you doing on our side of the river?”
He was trying to sound confident, but Fireheart could detect nervousness in his voice. He was a very young cat—an apprentice, Fireheart guessed, anxious at being away from the camp without his mentor.
“I’m not here to fight, or to spy,” Fireheart promised. “I need to talk to Mistyfoot. Will you fetch her for me?”
The apprentice hesitated again, as if he would have liked to protest. Then the habit of obeying warriors’ orders won over, and he padded along the riverside in the direction of the RiverClan camp. Fireheart watched him go and scrambled up the bank to a spot where he cou
ld lie concealed in the bracken until Mistyfoot appeared.
It was a long time before she came, but at last Fireheart caught sight of her familiar blue-gray shape trotting rapidly toward him. Familiar because of Bluestar, he realized with a jolt. His leader’s daughter was practically her double. To his relief she was alone. As she paused to sniff the air, he called out softly to her, “Mistyfoot! Up here!”
Mistyfoot’s ears twitched; moments later she was pushing her way into the ferns beside him. “What is it?” she meowed, looking worried. “Is it about Silverstream? I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”
Fireheart felt as if a bone were lodged in his throat. He swallowed uncomfortably. “Mistyfoot,” he mewed, “it’s bad news. I’m so sorry…Silverstream is dead.”
Mistyfoot fixed him with wide blue eyes full of disbelief. “Dead?” she echoed. “She can’t be!” Before Fireheart could respond, she added more harshly, “Did some of your ThunderClan warriors catch her over there?”
“No, no,” Fireheart replied quickly. “She was at the Sunningrocks with Graystripe, and the kits started to come. Something was wrong…there was a lot of blood. We did everything we could, but…oh, Mistyfoot, I’m so sorry.”
Pain flooded into Mistyfoot’s eyes as he explained. She let out a long, low wailing sound, her head flung back and her claws digging into the ground. Fireheart moved closer to try to comfort her, and felt every muscle in her body rigid with tension. There were no words he could say that would do any good.
At last the terrible wailing died away and Mistyfoot relaxed a little. “I knew no good could come of it,” she murmured. There was no anger or accusation in her voice, only a weary sadness. “I told her not to meet Graystripe, but would she listen? And now…I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.”
“Graystripe buried her by the Sunningrocks,” Fireheart told her. “If you’ll meet me there one day, I’ll show you the place.”
Mistyfoot nodded. “I’d like that, Fireheart.”
“Her kits are alive,” Fireheart added, in an attempt to ease some of the queen’s grief.
“Her kits?” Mistyfoot sat up, alert again.
“Two kits,” mewed Fireheart. “They’re going to be fine.”
Mistyfoot blinked, suddenly deep in thought. “Will ThunderClan want them, when they’re half RiverClan?”
“One of our queens is suckling them,” Fireheart assured her. “The Clan’s angry with Graystripe, but no cat would take it out on the kits.”
“I see.” Mistyfoot was silent for a while, still thoughtful, and then rose to her paws. “I must get back to camp and tell the Clan. They don’t even know about Graystripe. I can’t imagine what I’m going to say to Silverstream’s father.”
Fireheart knew how she felt. Many warrior fathers did not stay close to their kits, but Crookedstar had maintained a close bond with Silverstream. His grief at her death would be mixed with anger that she had betrayed her Clan by taking Graystripe as a mate.
Mistyfoot gave Fireheart a quick lick on the forehead. “Thank you,” she mewed. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”
Then she was gone, sliding rapidly through the ferns. Fireheart waited until she was out of sight before he padded down the pebbly shore and crossed the stepping stones back to his own territory.
Hunger roused Fireheart from sleep. Peering through the dim light in the warriors’ den, he saw that Graystripe had left his nest already. Oh, no! Fireheart thought irritably. He’s gone off to meet Silverstream again! Then he remembered.
Two dawns had passed since Silverstream’s death. The shock the Clan felt about her affair with Graystripe was beginning to die down, though none of the warriors except Fireheart and Brackenfur would talk to Graystripe or go on patrols with him. Bluestar had still not announced what his punishment would be.
Fireheart stretched and yawned. All night his sleep had been disturbed by Graystripe twitching and whimpering, but the weariness inside him went deeper than that. He couldn’t see how the Clan could possibly recover from the blow that had been struck by the discovery of Graystripe’s disloyalty. There was an atmosphere of uncertainty and distrust that dulled conversation and cut short the familiar rituals of sharing tongues.
With a determined shake, Fireheart slipped out through the branches and padded over to the pile of fresh-kill. The sun was rising, dappling the camp with golden light. As he bent to pick out a plump vole, he heard a voice calling, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”
Fireheart turned. Cloudkit was racing across the clearing toward him from the nursery. Brindleface and the rest of her kits followed more slowly, and to Fireheart’s surprise Bluestar was with them.
“Fireheart!” Cloudkit panted, skidding to a stop in front of him. “I’m going to be an apprentice! I’m going to be an apprentice now!”
Fireheart dropped the vole. He couldn’t help feeling cheered up when he saw the kit’s excitement, along with a twinge of guilt that he had completely forgotten Cloudkit was approaching his sixth moon.
“You’ll mentor him, of course, Fireheart?” Bluestar meowed as she came up. “It’s time you had another apprentice. You did good work with Brackenfur, even though he wasn’t yours.”
“Thank you,” meowed Fireheart, dipping his head to acknowledge her praise. He couldn’t help thinking sadly of Cinderpaw. He would never lose the feeling that he had been partly responsible for her accident, and he resolved to do better with Cloudkit.
“I’ll work harder than any cat!” Cloudkit promised, his eyes wide. “I’ll be the best apprentice there ever was!”
“We’ll see about that,” Bluestar mewed, while Brindleface purred with amusement.
“He’s been pestering me day and night,” she meowed fondly. “I know he’ll do his best. He’s strong and intelligent.”
Cloudkit’s eyes gleamed at her praise. He seems to have gotten over finding out he was a kittypet, Fireheart thought. But he’s arrogant, and he barely knows what the warrior code is, let alone respects it. Did I do the right thing, to bring him here? he wondered yet again. Mentoring him wouldn’t be easy, he knew.
“I’ll call the meeting,” Bluestar meowed, heading for the Highrock. With a glance at Fireheart, Cloudkit bounced after her, and the rest of the kits tumbled along behind.
“Fireheart,” meowed Brindleface, “there’s something I want to ask you.”
Fireheart suppressed a sigh. “What is it?” Obviously he wasn’t going to have time to eat his vole before Cloudkit’s ceremony.
“It’s about Graystripe. I know what he’s been through, but he’s never out of the nursery, watching over those two kits. It’s as if he thinks Goldenflower can’t look after them properly. He’s getting in the way of all of us.”
“Have you told him?”
“We’ve tried dropping hints. Speckletail even asked him if he thought he was expecting kits himself. He doesn’t take any notice.”
Fireheart gave the vole a last regretful glance. “I’ll talk to him, Brindleface. Is he there now?”
“Yes, he’s been there all morning.”
“I’ll fetch him out for the meeting.” Fireheart padded across the clearing; as he reached the nursery he heard Bluestar summoning the Clan from the top of the Highrock.
As he entered the nursery he felt a jolt of surprise to meet Tigerclaw coming out. He stepped aside to let the deputy pass him, wondering what he had been doing in the nursery, until he remembered that one of Goldenflower’s kits was a dark tabby; Tigerclaw must be their father.
The nursery was warm, and full of comforting milky smells. Goldenflower lay in her nest with Graystripe crouching over her, sniffing at the bundle of kits.
“Are they getting enough milk?” he meowed anxiously. “They’re so small.”
“That’s because they’re young,” Goldenflower replied patiently. “They’ll grow.”
Fireheart went over to watch the four kits suckling busily in the warmth of their mother’s body. The little dark tabby certainly looked just
like Tigerclaw. Graystripe’s two were smaller, but now that their coats had dried and fluffed out they looked just like any other healthy kits. One was the same dark gray as Graystripe, while the other had their mother’s silvery coat.
“They’re beautiful,” Fireheart whispered.
“Better than he deserves,” snorted Speckletail, pushing past on her way to answer Bluestar’s summons.
“Don’t listen to Speckletail,” mewed Goldenflower when the older queen had gone. She bent over the kits and touched the silvery one with her nose. “She’ll be as beautiful as her mother, Graystripe.”
“But what if they die?” Graystripe blurted out.
“They’re not going to die,” Fireheart insisted. “Goldenflower is looking after them.”
Goldenflower was gazing at all four kits with equal love and admiration, but Fireheart couldn’t help thinking that she was looking tired and strained. Perhaps four kits were too much for her to manage. He pushed the thought away. The bond between a mother and her own kits was strong, he reflected, but Clan loyalty was strong too, and Goldenflower would give the best she could to these kits because they were half ThunderClan, and she had a kind heart.
“Come on.” Fireheart gave Graystripe a nudge. “Bluestar has called a meeting. She’s going to make Cloudkit an apprentice.”
For a heartbeat Graystripe hesitated, and Fireheart thought he was going to refuse to come. Then he pushed himself up and let Fireheart herd him toward the entrance, looking back all the while at his kits.
Outside in the clearing the rest of the Clan had already gathered. Fireheart heard Willowpelt announce happily to Mousefur and Runningwind, “I’ll have to move into the nursery soon. I’m expecting kits.”
Runningwind murmured his congratulations, while Mousefur gave her friend’s ears a joyful lick. Fireheart couldn’t help wondering who had fathered these kits, and as he glanced around he noticed Whitestorm watching proudly from a distance. The news of Willowpelt’s kits reassured Fireheart. No matter what disasters they had to face, Clan life went on.