Crowfeather’s Trial

  “Stoats have come to live in the tunnels between WindClan and ThunderClan,” Onestar explained, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the ShadowClan leader’s words. “Nightcloud—”

  “And of course it never occurred to you to warn ThunderClan about the stoats,” Bramblestar interrupted, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

  Mouse-brain, Crowfeather thought. You’ve known about the stoats at least since Berrynose’s patrol caught me and Breezepelt in the tunnels. Are you trying to make trouble?

  “I understood that ThunderClan already knew about them,” Onestar responded with a curt dip of his head. “I trust you’ve been able to cope?”

  “We’re coping very well,” Bramblestar replied, his shoulder fur beginning to rise. “We’ve doubled the patrols in that area, and—”

  “Bramblestar, this isn’t the time,” Mistystar pointed out with a whisk of her plumy tail. “Onestar was speaking.”

  Crowfeather saw with satisfaction that the ThunderClan leader looked discomfited as he subsided, digging his claws into his branch. It’s challenging to be a leader, isn’t it, Bramblestar?

  “As I said,” Onestar continued, “stoats are living in the tunnels, and Nightcloud was part of a patrol that tried to clear them out. She never came home.”

  Very clever, Crowfeather thought. Onestar had told the exact truth, and yet he had managed not to mention any possible involvement by Breezepelt. That was something that WindClan would keep to itself.

  At least that was what would have happened if Weaselfur hadn’t sprung to his paws and meowed loudly, “Yeah, ask Breezepelt why not!”

  Crowfeather’s belly cramped with renewed tension. Must we do this at the Gathering? Murmurs of confusion arose from the other Clans. Harespring, sitting on the roots of the Great Oak with the other deputies, called out, “Weaselfur, keep your mouth shut!”

  “Why should I?” Weaselfur challenged him. “We all know that Breezepelt was with Nightcloud in the tunnels when the stoats attacked. Why was he the only one who got out alive?”

  Up in the branches of the Great Oak, Onestar was looking furious. Crowfeather knew how unhappy his leader would be at WindClan business being tossed around like a piece of prey in front of all the other Clans. They were at a Gathering! WindClan’s warriors needed to show that their Clan was united, not start spitting accusations at each other.

  Weaselfur, I wouldn’t want to be you when we get back to camp!

  But it was too late for Onestar to do anything now. Cats of all the other Clans were turning their heads to shoot accusing looks at Breezepelt. Berrynose gave him a particularly intense stare, and Lionblaze was eyeing him with suspicion in his gaze.

  Spiderleg leaned over to talk to Graystripe, who was sitting beside him, and Crowfeather was close enough to hear his whisper. “So she was left behind while her son ran to safety. So much for loyalty . . .”

  Graystripe gave Spiderleg an irritated shove. “Shh, that’s enough. We don’t want to make more trouble.”

  Too late. Crowfeather craned his neck to find his son, hoping that Breezepelt hadn’t overheard that or anything like it from where he sat at the back of the crowd. But when he saw that Breezepelt had raised his head and was glowering at the cats sitting near him, Crowfeather felt as if he had been drenched in icy water.

  Of course he heard them. . . . He wished Breezepelt weren’t here. He knew it must be hard enough for him to put up with the scorn of his own Clanmates while he was grieving for his mother. What would it be like to suffer the scorn of all four Clans?

  Spiderleg exchanged a glance with Berrynose before rising to his paws. Crowfeather noticed that flecks of gray had appeared around his muzzle, making him look like a cranky elder, though he was still a relatively young cat. He raised his voice to carry beyond his first sneering whisper.

  “Our wounds from the Great Battle are still healing,” he began, “and not all of those wounds are in our flesh. It’s not unreasonable for cats to wonder about those who were treacherous. Some reparations have been made, but . . .” He shrugged.

  If I were Spiderleg’s Clan leader, I would shut him up, Crowfeather thought. Ordinary warriors didn’t have the right to make speeches at a Gathering without permission. Had the Great Battle changed things so much, that even Gatherings were chaotic these days?

  But whether Bramblestar was too inexperienced to know what to do, or whether he wanted to hear what Spiderleg had to say, he didn’t interrupt, only listening from his branch of the Great Oak with an unreadable expression on his face.

  “After all,” Spiderleg went on, “I think most cats would agree that before the battle they wouldn’t have believed that any cat could betray the Clans as they did. But it happened. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”

  “That’s right,” Berrynose put in. “After we suffered so much betrayal from Dark Forest cats, nothing at all would surprise me.”

  While Berrynose was speaking, Crowfeather spotted Larkwing sitting alone in the crowd with her gaze fixed firmly on her forepaws. He felt another twinge of compassion for her; she must be finding it hard, too, to listen to these warriors who refused to trust the cats who had trained in the Dark Forest.

  Then Crowfeather became aware of movement behind him, distracting him from Larkwing, and glanced over his shoulder to see Breezepelt rising to his paws. Other cats were turning their heads to look at him as he leaped forward and charged straight at Spiderleg. Some of the cats instinctively darted aside, and those who stayed in Breezepelt’s way were thrust aside with powerful strokes of his paws. Crowfeather sprang up to intercept him, terrified that he was going to attack Spiderleg and break the Gathering truce.

  But instead Breezepelt halted in the middle of the crowd, a tail-length away from the black ThunderClan tom. The cats nearby turned around to stare, shaking their ruffled pelts.

  “If so many cats have a problem with me,” Breezepelt snarled, “they should say so directly, not prowl around it like little mouse-hearts!”

  Onestar gazed down at him from the Great Oak, lashing his tail in frustration and anger. “Breezepelt, stop now!” he commanded.

  But Crowfeather could see that his son wasn’t looking at their leader, either unaware that he had spoken or determined to ignore him.

  “I know very well what you might think about me,” Breezepelt continued. “But in my opinion, some warriors in other Clans are just looking for a reason to fight. Doesn’t that make them just as much of a threat to our day-to-day lives as the cats who once trained with—or even fought for—the Dark Forest?”

  “Oh, you’d like to pass the blame on elsewhere?” Berrynose sneered. He paused to lick one cream-colored paw and draw it over his ear. “The difference is, Breezepelt, that even after you found out what the Dark Forest was up to, you stayed with them. You were prepared to kill Lionblaze—prepared to kill your own kin! How can we just accept your word if you tell us that you’d never hurt Nightcloud?”

  “Because Nightcloud was the only cat who ever cared about me!” Breezepelt flashed back at him.

  Crowfeather knew his son’s answer was too honest and came too quickly to be a lie. He could see the hurt in his eyes, and his instant regret at revealing such a vulnerable part of himself to hostile cats without meaning to.

  At Breezepelt’s pain, Crowfeather felt a piercing within his own heart. I should have cared, he thought helplessly. I should have tried to understand earlier. Instead I let Nightcloud handle it all. . . .

  “There’s no way I’d ever want my mother to come to harm,” Breezepelt continued. “I was there, you weren’t, and I know what really happened. It wasn’t my fault that Nightcloud disappeared. It was the fault of the StarClan-cursed stoats that have taken over the tunnels! Why is no cat doing anything about them? Because it’s easier to sit here and accuse me? Well, fox dung to that!”

  He began to back away, then turned and headed for the bushes that surrounded the clearing.

  “Breezepelt! Where are you going?” Crowfeather as
ked.

  Breezepelt halted and glanced over his shoulder, giving his father one scathing look. “Back into the tunnels to kill stoats,” he snapped. “Since no other cat is doing it!”

  Spiderleg twitched his whiskers. “Is that so? Or are you going to eavesdrop on ThunderClan some more?” he mewed.

  Breezepelt whirled to face the ThunderClan warrior, his muscles tensed and his claws extending. “How dare you, you mangy—”

  Crowfeather’s belly lurched as he saw that once again the Gathering truce was within heartbeats of being broken. Quickly he stepped between the two hostile warriors, breaking their furious glare.

  “Calm down,” he began. “This isn’t—”

  Berrynose interrupted him, his voice ringing out clearly. “No, that’s a good idea. Why not let Breezepelt go into the tunnels and take on the stoats by himself? If he succeeds, he’ll have helped us all and proven his loyalty. And if he doesn’t, the stoats will make him pay for his treachery. Maybe StarClan is nudging us that way.”

  Crowfeather remembered hearing the cream-colored tom suggest that all the Dark Forest cats should be tested, to prove that their loyalties lay with the Clans. I used to think he might have a point. . . . But could that really be what StarClan wants? For the Dark Forest cats to risk their lives to show their loyalty?

  “Are you still meowing on about testing the Dark Forest cats?” he growled, reluctant to agree, even partly, with Berrynose in public.

  Berrynose faced him, undeterred by his aggressive tone. “That could be the only way to make sure of their loyalty,” he responded. “I haven’t changed my mind since the day we caught you WindClan cats spying.”

  “Great StarClan!” Crowfeather wished they weren’t having this confrontation at a Gathering. If we were anywhere else, I could claw that smug look off his silly face! But I’d start a war if I did that here. “You dense furball! How many more times do I have to say this?” he meowed, twitching his whiskers irritably. “We were not spying on ThunderClan! We were looking for Nightcloud.”

  Berrynose shrugged, disbelief evident in every hair on his pelt. “WindClan promises don’t mean much to me.” Mutterings of suspicion came from many of the other cats around, while yet others remained silent, merely looking bewildered.

  Jayfeather, the blind ThunderClan medicine cat, was one of those who looked unconvinced by Crowfeather’s claim. Crowfeather wondered whether he really believed they had been spying, or whether it was all part of his usual hostility toward his father and his half brother in another Clan. As Crowfeather understood it, Jayfeather could even be hostile to the cats he liked, so it was hard to tease out what he was actually feeling.

  Where does he get that from?

  Now Jayfeather spoke up. “Spying or not, why did Nightcloud and Breezepelt go into the tunnels in the first place?”

  “I can answer that,” Onestar replied, to Crowfeather’s relief.

  Glancing across the clearing, he could see Leafpool standing beside Jayfeather, and for a moment Crowfeather’s gaze locked with hers. It was clear from the look in her eyes that she too was concerned about the rising tension between their two Clans.

  Even though it’s been moons and moons since we were together, I can still tell what Leafpool is thinking.

  “It was because of the stoats,” Onestar continued. “And because Kestrelflight had a vision. Kestrelflight, tell them about it.”

  The gaze of every cat turned toward the young WindClan medicine cat. Kestrelflight rose to his paws, looking slightly nervous at the prospect of addressing the whole Gathering. “I saw . . . ,” he began. His voice croaked as if he had a piece of fresh-kill lodged in his throat, and he cleared it before he continued. “I saw a great wave of water,” he mewed. “It swept out of the tunnels and drowned WindClan’s territory. Clearly it was a warning.”

  For a moment an uneasy silence fell on all the Clans, the cats exchanging dismayed glances. From the surprise apparent in their eyes, Crowfeather could tell that Kestrelflight hadn’t even shared his vision with the other medicine cats. Perhaps that’s good, he considered. Onestar is so suspicious of the other Clans and their motives right now.

  Then Bramblestar rose to his paws and padded along his branch until he was visible to every cat in the clearing. His amber gaze was fixed on Onestar. “Does WindClan intend to share any information with ThunderClan?” he demanded. “This vision wasn’t just a warning for you. It affects ThunderClan, too, because some of the tunnels lead into our territory. Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  Onestar drew his lips back in the beginning of a snarl. “It was a WindClan vision to warn WindClan,” he snapped. “Does ThunderClan need to stick its nose into everything?”

  “I’m not trying to meddle,” Bramblestar responded, obviously struggling hard to hold on to his patience. “But we need to work together to take care of the threat before any more cats get hurt. It seems to me that the vision referred to the stoats that killed Nightcloud,” he added. “Is that what you believe?”

  Onestar responded with no more than an annoyed lash of his tail, but Kestrelflight spoke up, with a respectful dip of his head to the ThunderClan leader. “Yes, that’s what we think.”

  “And you needn’t worry, Bramblestar,” Onestar meowed, contempt in his voice. “WindClan is putting together a plan to drive the stoats out.”

  “I am worried,” Bramblestar retorted. “We’d noticed that prey had been getting scarce around the tunnel entrances, but we knew nothing about the stoats until Berrynose’s patrol rescued your cats from them. Sharing information would have been friendly, don’t you think?” When Onestar didn’t reply to his provocation, he went on, “I believe ThunderClan and WindClan should work together. Two Clans are stronger than one.”

  Crowfeather remembered his thoughts about the vision . . . how he, too, had wondered whether it implied that the Clans should be working together. It felt strange to agree with the ThunderClan leader over his own, but he couldn’t help it. He spotted Leafpool nodding in agreement, but a moment later Lionblaze rose to his paws. “How can we work with WindClan when I was nearly killed in the Dark Forest by a WindClan cat?” he demanded.

  Onestar gazed down at the golden-furred warrior. “WindClan has received Breezepelt back as a loyal WindClan warrior,” he told Lionblaze. “I understand that you might have trouble accepting that.”

  “He’s only loyal to WindClan,” Lionblaze snorted, turning to glare at Breezepelt. “That doesn’t mean he follows the rest of the warrior code. If we work together, what’s to stop him attacking me again—or any other Clan cat who gets under his fur? He’s a menace!”

  Crowfeather had to admit to himself that not long ago he would have agreed with Lionblaze. But now he was beginning to see things from Breezepelt’s point of view. He felt as if claws inside him were trying to rip their way out through his belly fur. Sorrow weighed on his heart to see his sons facing each other with hostile glares, and he surprised himself by feeling a protectiveness toward Lionblaze, the son he never saw grow up.

  He had always told himself that Lionblaze and Jayfeather—and their sister, Hollyleaf, who died in the Great Battle—were not his kits, because he never raised them. But now . . . he just knew that he didn’t want to see Breezepelt and Lionblaze in conflict like this.

  Every hair on Crowfeather’s pelt was rising, telling him that this was wrong. Even though the two toms were not Clanmates, Crowfeather reflected, they were kin. Yet fate has made them enemies.

  Breezepelt’s eyes narrowed with fury as he stared at Lionblaze. “You’re right, but I’m not the cat I was then,” he responded to his half brother’s accusation. Turning to address the rest of the Clans, he continued, “You can all believe whatever you want. I don’t need any cat’s help. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going back into the tunnels to kill all the stoats and avenge my mother—even if I have to do it alone.”

  Spinning around, he stalked back to the edge of the clearing and slid through the bushes. Crowfeather cal
led after him, but Breezepelt ignored him. He left an uncomfortable silence behind him.

  Mistystar was the first cat to speak, giving RiverClan’s news in an attempt to continue the Gathering in the usual way, as if a skirmish hadn’t almost broken out.

  “Twolegs came tramping over our territory with a dog,” she informed the assembled warriors. “Reedwhisker and Mintfur tracked them, and they went away without causing any trouble.”

  But no cat was paying much attention, their heads together as they gossiped eagerly about Breezepelt’s declaration, and after quick reports from Blackstar and Bramblestar, the Gathering broke up. The air still vibrated with tension as each Clan in turn crossed the tree-bridge and headed off separately into the darkness.

  Crowfeather padded along the edge of the lake with Onestar and the rest of his Clanmates. Every time he thought about Breezepelt and Nightcloud, his anxiety swelled. He knew that if Nightcloud had been here, she would have been able to calm Breezepelt down. But now it’s up to me, and I have no idea what to do. His chest felt so tight that he could hardly breathe.

  Will this feeling ever go away?

  Back in the WindClan camp, Crowfeather was heading for the warriors’ den when he spotted Heathertail talking to Breezepelt, clearly trying to comfort him. His son’s claws were tearing at the ground in a fit of anger, as though Heathertail’s efforts weren’t having much effect.

  Crowfeather veered aside to talk to them, when he heard Onestar calling to Breezepelt from just outside his den.

  “I need a word with you,” the Clan leader meowed, beckoning Breezepelt with his tail. “Come here for a moment.”

  Breezepelt hesitated, obviously reluctant. Come on, Crowfeather urged him silently. Don’t make this any worse. To his relief, Breezepelt headed toward Onestar after a couple of heartbeats, and Heathertail padded after him. Crowfeather followed, too, not joining the others but halting a few tail-lengths away so that he could hear their conversation where they clustered together outside the leader’s den.