Crowfeather’s Trial

  “I’m sure we won’t,” Onestar meowed, with a respectful dip of his head. “The stoats are gone, and we couldn’t have achieved that without your help. Please take the thanks of WindClan to Bramblestar.”

  Squirrelflight nodded, equally respectful. “I will. And may StarClan light your path.”

  “And yours,” Onestar responded.

  Crowfeather watched as Squirrelflight led the ThunderClan cats away toward the border. Warm satisfaction filled him at the thought that their two Clans had worked together, along with hope that they could rely on each other in the future. As they went, he caught Nightcloud’s eye and saw that she was looking calm and approving.

  In the past she had always been angry and contemptuous of ThunderClan, never losing a chance to quarrel with them or accuse them of overstepping. For the first time, Crowfeather realized that so much of that had been because of him.

  It must have been hard for her, he thought as he and the rest of the WindClan cats headed for their camp, knowing that for so long my heart lay across that border. Maybe now she won’t be so angry. And maybe in future the Clans can finally learn to get along in peace.

  CHAPTER 32

  An icy wind swept across the moor, buffeting Crowfeather’s fur as he stood watching his apprentice. Featherpaw had picked up the scent of a rabbit where it crouched in a clump of long grass, and now she chased it up the hill, her muscles bunching and stretching as she gradually gained on her quarry. His heart warmed to see her speed and strength, as if she had never been injured.

  The rabbit doubled back, and without a heartbeat’s hesitation Featherpaw changed direction, not chasing the rabbit anymore, but seeming to know instinctively where it would run. She leaped on it with outstretched paws; Crowfeather heard the rabbit’s squeal of terror, abruptly cut off as Featherpaw killed it by biting its throat.

  He waited for his apprentice as she trotted back to him, her prey dangling from her jaws. “Was that okay?” she asked, her eyes shining as she dropped the rabbit in front of him.

  “No, it wasn’t okay,” Crowfeather meowed, then added quickly before Featherpaw had time to look disappointed, “It was magnificent. Well done!”

  Featherpaw blinked up at him happily. “It’s your catch really,” she purred. “You’re such a great mentor!”

  Crowfeather felt a tingle of satisfaction in his paws, reflecting that even though he hadn’t been the best father when his kits were growing up, he was at least a good mentor now. Maybe that can make up for my other failings. . . .

  “We’d better head back,” he meowed, picking up the rook he had caught earlier and leading the way down the hill and into the camp.

  “What shall we do now?” Featherpaw asked, dropping her rabbit on the fresh-kill pile.

  Glancing around the camp, Crowfeather spotted the other three apprentices dragging soiled bedding out of the elders’ den. “Go and help them,” he mewed, angling his ears in that direction.

  Featherpaw’s tail drooped. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you do. Life isn’t all rabbit-chasing, you know.” Crowfeather let out a little purr of satisfaction. “Tell them I said you made the best catch this season.”

  “Yes!” Energized again, Featherpaw dashed across the camp to join her denmates.

  I’ll miss her when it’s time for her to become a warrior, Crowfeather thought as he watched her go. But she’s shaping up to be a really fine one.

  He turned toward Kestrelflight’s den to visit his son. Several days had passed since the final battle against the stoats, and Breezepelt was the only one of the injured warriors who hadn’t returned to his duties. His recovery hadn’t gone as quickly as Crowfeather had hoped. He spent much of the time in a troubled, unhealthy sleep, and when he was awake, he was dull and listless. The day before, he had looked up at Crowfeather and called him Lionblaze before shaking his head and seeming to come to his senses.

  Maybe he’ll be better today, Crowfeather told himself, but it was hard to make himself believe it.

  As Crowfeather approached the medicine-cat den, Heathertail emerged and hurried over to him. “Where’s Nightcloud?” she asked.

  Crowfeather pointed with his tail to where the black she-cat was crouched near the fresh-kill pile, sharing a pigeon with Sedgewhisker. Immediately, Heathertail bounded over to her, and Crowfeather followed.

  “I want you both to come to Kestrelflight’s den,” Heathertail meowed when she reached Nightcloud.

  Alarm in her eyes, Nightcloud immediately sprang to her paws, gulping down her mouthful of prey. “What happened?” she demanded.

  “I went to visit Breezepelt this morning,” Heathertail explained as she led the way back to the den, “and he’s taken a turn for the worse. You need to see him.”

  Crowfeather and Nightcloud exchanged a look of alarm as they followed Heathertail. Inside the den, Crowfeather saw that Breezepelt was awake, but his eyes were glazed, and when Crowfeather touched his shoulder, he could feel heat radiating from his pelt. He didn’t seem to recognize any of them, but he was muttering to himself. “Stupid stoats . . . kill you all . . .” His head kept sagging to one side, as if he was half-asleep.

  Kestrelflight appeared from the back of the den, carrying a mouthful of borage leaves in his jaws.

  “Eat those,” he meowed, setting the leaves down in front of Breezepelt. “They’ll help bring down your fever.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Nightcloud asked anxiously.

  “Most of his wounds are healing nicely,” Kestrelflight told her, while Heathertail coaxed Breezepelt to eat the herbs. “But there’s one very bad bite, the one on his belly, and it’s infected. If it gets any worse, I’m afraid he won’t make it.”

  Crowfeather stared at the medicine cat in horror. Won’t make it? What about his future with Heathertail? What about my chance to be a real father to him? “There must be something you can do,” he meowed.

  “I have plenty of herbs for the pain and the fever, but the remedy for infected bites is burdock root,” Kestrelflight explained. “And I’m all out of it. I used up the last of my supply on Breezepelt and the other injured warriors after the battle.”

  Crowfeather raised his head, his expression grim with determination. “It’s settled, then. We’ll go and search for burdock root if you tell us what to look for and where we might find it.”

  “This is leaf-bare,” Kestrelflight replied. “The leaves die back, and without the leaves it’s hard to know where the roots are. But I can send cats to the other Clans to ask the medicine cats if they have any to spare. I’d go myself, but I need to keep a close eye on Breezepelt.”

  Nightcloud spun around to gaze at Crowfeather. “You should go to ThunderClan and ask Leafpool,” she meowed. “She won’t say no to you.”

  Kestrelflight glanced away and gave his shoulder an embarrassed lick, clearly uncomfortable at being reminded of Crowfeather’s history with the ThunderClan cat.

  Feeling awkward, Crowfeather hesitated. Is Nightcloud really asking me to go visit Leafpool?

  A hint of her old rage glimmered in Nightcloud’s eyes, but it wasn’t jealousy that Crowfeather saw there. “You must!” she insisted fiercely. “Leafpool won’t let your son die if she can stop it. Crowfeather, you owe it to me and to Breezepelt to ask her. You have to do everything you can.”

  Crowfeather realized that she was right. This is no time to start raking over old troubles. “Of course I’ll go,” he mewed.

  Crowfeather stood on the bank of the border stream, his shoulders hunched against a thin drizzle that had started as he crossed the moor. He was waiting for a ThunderClan patrol. His claws tore impatiently at the grass as he wondered how long it would be before any cats appeared.

  If they’re waiting for the rain to stop, it could be too late for Breezepelt.

  Crowfeather’s paws itched to leap across and hurry toward the camp on his own, but he knew it would be a bad idea to trespass when he had come to ask a favor.

  I wish I’
d thought to bring another cat with me, he thought. Featherpaw, for example . . . We could have done some training, and then I wouldn’t have the time to worry about Breezepelt.

  But when Crowfeather had asked Onestar’s permission to visit Leafpool, his Clan leader had told him to go alone. “You won’t have any trouble,” Onestar had assured him. “Not since you’re on medicine-cat business.”

  Finally, Crowfeather picked up a fresher ThunderClan scent and heard the sound of a patrol brushing through the undergrowth on the far side of the stream. He stepped forward to the very edge as Sandstorm, Berrynose, and Ivypool emerged into the open.

  “Great StarClan, it’s you again!” Berrynose exclaimed.

  And it’s you again, you rude furball. Crowfeather didn’t speak the thought aloud. “Greetings,” he meowed politely, addressing Sandstorm. “Please, may I come across? I’m on medicine-cat business from Kestrelflight, and I need to speak to Leafpool.”

  “This is a border,” Berrynose pointed out, before Sandstorm could reply. “Smell the scent marks? You can’t come in here when you feel like it, as if you were a kittypet going in and out of its Twolegs’ den.”

  Crowfeather felt the fur on his spine beginning to rise at being compared to a kittypet, but he forced it to lie flat again. He needed to stay on good terms with these cats and get the help he needed quickly, however much he might want to claw the smug expression off Berrynose’s face.

  “That’s enough, Berrynose,” Sandstorm snapped, and Crowfeather caught Ivypool rolling her eyes.

  I guess ThunderClan cats find Berrynose just as much of a pain in the tail as we do, Crowfeather thought.

  “You can come over, Crowfeather,” Sandstorm went on. “We’re ready to go back to camp, so we can escort you.”

  Sandstorm led the way through the woods with Crowfeather behind her and Berrynose bringing up the rear with Ivypool. Crowfeather winced at the cold touch of wet grass and fern against his pelt, and the drops of rain from the trees that plopped down on his back. Somehow the forest seems so much wetter than the moor, he thought as he trudged along with his head down.

  When they reached the stone hollow, Sandstorm took Crowfeather as far as the entrance to the medicine-cat den and left him there. “Go right in,” she instructed him. “I’ll tell Bramblestar you’re here.”

  Crowfeather brushed past the brambles that screened the entrance to the den, calling out Leafpool’s name as he entered. But once he was inside the den, he saw that Leafpool wasn’t there, only Jayfeather and Briarlight curled up asleep in her nest. He halted, freezing.

  Now what do I do?

  Jayfeather turned from where he was sorting herbs toward the back of the den. “That’s WindClan scent,” he muttered, tasting the air. A moment later he added, “Oh, it’s you, Crowfeather.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “What do you want?”

  “I was looking for Leafpool,” Crowfeather explained, realizing that he would have to make the best of the awkward situation.

  “She’s out gathering herbs,” Jayfeather told him curtly. “But if you’re here on medicine-cat business, I can help with that just as well as Leafpool can. She certainly doesn’t need you taking up any more of her time. You’ve already done enough of that.”

  Crowfeather flinched, glad that Jayfeather couldn’t see him. “Kestrelflight sent me to ask if you could spare any burdock root,” he mewed.

  Jayfeather flicked his tail. “Lionblaze told me Breezepelt was injured in the battle,” he responded dryly. “Is that who the burdock root is for? Is that why Kestrelflight sent you?”

  The tight lines of Jayfeather’s shoulders, the tilted back, the furious angle of his ears, even the clipped, sullen tone of his voice all seemed so familiar to Crowfeather. He looked and sounded like Breezepelt at his angriest.

  In fact, Crowfeather realized with a weird little lurch in his belly, they both look and sound like me, at my worst.

  For the first time—and Crowfeather knew that it was pretty useless to see it now—he felt a flush of recognition for Jayfeather. Even though Bramblestar had raised him, there could be no doubt: The blind medicine cat really was his kit.

  “Yes, the burdock root is for Breezepelt,” he admitted, allowing a bit of impatience into his own voice. Jayfeather needs to know I’m serious. “He’s badly hurt. Kestrelflight says he has an infected stoat bite. He’s feverish and he doesn’t recognize any cat, and Kestrelflight told me he needs burdock root. He—”

  “I’m sorry.” Jayfeather cut him off with barely concealed contempt. “I don’t have any to spare.”

  The disappointment struck Crowfeather like a blow. For a moment he’d thought he understood the cranky, blind medicine cat. . . . But I was wrong. And why shouldn’t I be? I barely know him.

  Crowfeather felt a sinking feeling deep in his chest and was about to take his leave when he realized something: Jayfeather had said he couldn’t spare any burdock root, not that he didn’t have any at all.

  “If you can lend me some, just for a little while,” he pleaded, “I’ll find more for you. I—”

  Jayfeather interrupted again, every word spat out as if it were rotting crow-food. “Breezepelt tried to kill my brother. He said he was glad that Hollyleaf was dead, and that none of us should ever have been born. Lionblaze might have forgiven Breezepelt, but Lionblaze is a nicer cat than I am. Or a more stupid one.” His blind eyes glared at Crowfeather, the pelt on his scrawny figure bushing out. “I can’t forgive Breezepelt. I can’t forgive you. And I don’t have any burdock root to spare.”

  Crowfeather stood still, his shoulders sagging as he took his son’s hostile expression. The thought crossed his mind that he could fight his way past Jayfeather and take the burdock root, but he knew how bee-brained that would be. I’d never make it out of the camp. But it was hard to know that the root to save Breezepelt was only a few tail-lengths away, at the back of the den.

  “I’m sorry I treated you badly when I found out you were my kit,” Crowfeather meowed at last, breaking the long silence. “And I know that Breezepelt is sorry for what he did in the battle against the Dark Forest.”

  If he had hoped for a sympathetic response from Jayfeather, he was disappointed. The medicine cat said nothing, only flicked his tail dismissively.

  Crowfeather dipped his head in acceptance. “Good-bye,” he murmured. “I should have known that you would say no.” Then he turned and left the den.

  I’ll go on around the lake and stop off in ShadowClan, and if that’s no good, I’ll visit RiverClan on my way home. Mothwing won’t refuse if she has the burdock root. But even so, every extra paw step takes time Breezepelt may not have. . . .

  The rain was still falling, depressing Crowfeather’s spirits even more. He headed for the thorn tunnel, but before he reached it, he heard Jayfeather calling out behind him. “Crowfeather, wait!”

  Crowfeather halted and turned. Jayfeather was approaching him, carrying something in his mouth. In spite of everything, Crowfeather was impressed by the way the blind cat found his way across the camp, even skirting neatly around a puddle that lay in his way.

  When Jayfeather reached him, Crowfeather saw that what he was carrying was burdock root; he dropped it on the ground at Crowfeather’s paws.

  “I still don’t forgive you,” Jayfeather mewed. “Everything I said is still true. But I’m a medicine cat, and I can’t just let a cat die when I could save him. Not even Breezepelt. So here is the burdock root.”

  Crowfeather could hardly catch his breath. “Th-thank you!” he stammered.

  Jayfeather didn’t respond. Turning away, he padded back to his den and disappeared behind the bramble screen. Crowfeather picked up the burdock root from the muddy ground and bounded back toward WindClan territory.

  Hang on, Breezepelt, he thought. I’m on my way.

  CHAPTER 33

  Nightcloud and Heathertail leaped to their paws as Crowfeather entered the medicine-cat den. Breezepelt was curled up beside them, shifting in an uneasy sl
eep.

  “Well? Did Leafpool have burdock root?” Nightcloud demanded.

  “I saw Jayfeather, not Leafpool,” Crowfeather replied, dropping the root in front of Kestrelflight. “He gave me the root.” No need to tell them how he gave it to me.

  Instantly Kestrelflight seized the burdock root and began chewing it into a pulp. Once he had some ready, he spread it on the swollen stoat bite and bound it in place with a cobweb.

  “That should help with the pain and deal with the infection,” he explained.

  As sunhigh came and went, Crowfeather, Nightcloud, and Heathertail all remained in the medicine-cat den, anxiously watching over Breezepelt. At first Crowfeather couldn’t see much change in his son’s condition, but after a long while Breezepelt seemed to fall into a deeper, quieter sleep.

  “That’s a good sign,” Kestrelflight meowed. “A real sleep—not the restless kind he’s had up to now—is healing.”

  All three warriors looked at each other, and Crowfeather saw his own relief reflected in the she-cats’ faces. He noticed too that they both looked exhausted after their long vigil.

  “You should go and get some prey, and then rest,” he told them. “You’ve been here in the den, worrying, all day.” Nightcloud opened her jaws to protest, but Crowfeather forestalled her. “I’ll stay right here beside Breezepelt,” he promised, “and I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  “Crowfeather’s right,” Kestrelflight agreed. “You should go. It won’t help Breezepelt if you make yourselves ill.”

  Nightcloud and Heathertail exchanged a glance, then, still clearly reluctant, padded out of the den. Crowfeather settled down beside Breezepelt’s nest, his gaze fixed on his son’s sleeping face. Kestrelflight came and went silently, busy with his medicine-cat duties.

  Crowfeather’s mind flew back to the day when Breezepelt was born. Even then he hadn’t loved Nightcloud in the way he had loved Feathertail, and later Leafpool, but he’d admired her for her strength and her loyalty to WindClan. He was proud that she was having his kits, but he wasn’t prepared for the sharp pang of love he felt for Breezepelt when the kit was finally born.