Into the Wild

  “Why would Tigerclaw want to get rid of you, Ravenpaw?” Firepaw asked gently. “He’s one of the Clan’s strongest warriors. What threat are you to him?” Firepaw suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the truth from Ravenpaw’s own mouth. He waited while Ravenpaw fumbled for words.

  At last the black apprentice crawled closer to Firepaw and whispered hoarsely into his ear, “Because the RiverClan deputy didn’t kill Redtail; Tigerclaw did.”

  Firepaw nodded silently, and Ravenpaw continued, his whisper cracking with tension. “Redtail killed the RiverClan deputy—”

  “So Tigerclaw didn’t kill Oakheart.” Firepaw couldn’t help interrupting.

  Ravenpaw shook his head. “No, he didn’t! After Redtail had killed Oakheart, Tigerclaw ordered me back to the camp. I wanted to stay, but he yowled at me to go, so I ran into the trees. I should have carried on running, but I couldn’t leave while they were still fighting. I turned and crept back to see if Tigerclaw needed help. By the time I got near, all the RiverClan warriors had fled, leaving just Redtail and Tigerclaw. Redtail was watching the last warrior running away and Tigerclaw”—Ravenpaw paused, then gulped—“Tigerclaw j-jumped on him. He sank his teeth into the back of his neck and Redtail fell to the ground, dead. That’s when I ran. I don’t know if Tigerclaw saw me or not. I just kept running till I got back to the camp.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Bluestar?” Firepaw pressed gently.

  “Would she have believed me?” Ravenpaw’s eyes rolled wildly. “Do you believe me?”

  “Of course I do,” Firepaw mewed. He licked Ravenpaw between the ears in an effort to calm and comfort his friend. He was going to have to find another opportunity to tell Bluestar about Tigerclaw’s treachery. “Don’t worry; I’ll sort it out,” he promised. “Meanwhile, make sure you stick close to me or Graypaw.”

  “Does Graypaw know? About them wanting to get rid of me?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll have to tell him.”

  Ravenpaw settled silently onto his belly and stared ahead.

  “It’s okay, Ravenpaw,” Firepaw purred, touching the skinny black body with his nose. “I’ll help you get out of this.”

  Graypaw padded into the den at dawn. Sandpaw and Dustpaw had returned from their patrol a while ago and were asleep in their nests.

  “Hi!” mewed Graypaw, sounding more cheerful than he had for days.

  Firepaw woke at once. “You sound better,” he purred.

  Graypaw licked Firepaw’s ear. “Spottedleaf put some gunk on my cut and made me lie still for hours. I must’ve fallen asleep. By the way, I hope that chaffinch out there was for me; I was starving!”

  “It was. Ravenpaw caught it yesterday. Tigerclaw sent him into—”

  “Shut up, you two,” growled Sandpaw. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  Graypaw rolled his eyes. “Come on, Firepaw,” he mewed. “Brindleface has had her kits; let’s go and visit them.”

  Firepaw purred with pleasure. At last, something for ThunderClan to celebrate. He looked down at Ravenpaw, who was still sleeping, and padded out of the den. With Graypaw, he trotted across the clearing toward the nursery. The rising sun made his pelt glow with warmth, and he stretched appreciatively, reveling in the suppleness of his spine and the strength in his legs.

  “Stop showing off!” Graypaw called over his shoulder. Firepaw stopped stretching and bounded after his friend.

  Whitestorm was sitting outside the nursery, guarding the entrance. “Have you two come to see the new kits?” he meowed as Firepaw and Graypaw approached.

  Firepaw nodded.

  “One at a time only, and you’ll have to wait; Bluestar’s with her now,” Whitestorm told them.

  “Well, you can go first,” Firepaw offered. “I’ll go and see Yellowfang while I’m waiting.” He dipped his head respectfully to Whitestorm and headed off toward Yellowfang’s nest.

  The old cat was washing behind her ears, her eyes half-closed with concentration.

  “Don’t tell me you’re expecting rain!” Firepaw teased.

  Yellowfang looked up. “You’ve been listening to too many elders’ tales,” she meowed. “What would be the point of a cat washing its ears if they’re only going to get rained on anyway?”

  Firepaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “Are you going to see Brindleface’s new litter?” he asked.

  Yellowfang stiffened and she shook her head. “I don’t think I’d be very welcome,” she growled.

  “But they know you saved—” Firepaw began.

  “A she-cat is very protective of her newborns. Especially when it’s her first litter. I think I’ll stay away,” Yellowfang replied in a tone that invited no argument.

  “As you wish. But I’m going to see them. It must be a good sign, having new kits in the camp.”

  Yellowfang shrugged. “Sometimes,” she muttered darkly.

  Firepaw turned and trotted back to the nursery. Clouds had covered the sun, making the air turn fresher. A fierce breeze tugged at his fur and rustled the leaves around the clearing.

  Bluestar was sitting outside the nursery. Behind her, Graypaw’s tail was just disappearing into the narrow entrance. “Firepaw,” she greeted him. “Have you come to see ThunderClan’s newest warriors?” The ThunderClan leader sounded tired and sad.

  Firepaw was surprised. Surely the kits were good news for ThunderClan?

  “Yes, I have,” he replied.

  “Well, when you’ve finished, come and see me in my den.”

  “Yes, Bluestar,” Firepaw mewed as she walked slowly away. He felt his fur prickle. Here was another chance to speak to Bluestar alone. Perhaps StarClan was on his side, after all.

  Graypaw crawled out of the nursery entrance. “They’re really cute,” he mewed. “But I’m starving now. I’m off to find some fresh-kill. I’ll save some for you if I find any!” He blinked affectionately at Firepaw and bounded away.

  Firepaw purred a good-bye and looked up at Whitestorm, who nodded his permission for him to enter the nursery. Firepaw squeezed through the tiny entrance.

  Four tiny kits huddled warmly in Brindleface’s deeply lined nest. Their fur was pale gray with darker flecks, just like their mother, except for one tiny dark gray tom. They mewled and squirmed beside Brindleface’s belly, their eyes shut tight.

  “How are you feeling?” Firepaw whispered to her.

  “A little tired,” answered Brindleface. She looked down proudly at her litter. “But the kits are all strong and healthy.”

  “ThunderClan is lucky to have them,” Firepaw purred. “I was just talking about them to Yellowfang.”

  Brindleface didn’t answer, and Firepaw couldn’t miss the look of worry that flashed in her eyes as she nudged a straying kit closer to her.

  Firepaw felt a tremor of anxiety in his belly. Bluestar may have accepted Yellowfang into ThunderClan, but it looked like the old cat was still not trusted by all of the Clan. He touched his nose affectionately to Brindleface’s flank, then turned and made his way out into the clearing.

  The Clan leader was waiting for Firepaw at the entrance to her den. Longtail sat at her side. The pale tabby warrior stared hard at Firepaw as he approached. Firepaw ignored his gaze and looked expectantly at Bluestar.

  “Come inside,” she meowed, turning to lead the way. Firepaw trotted after her. Longtail immediately stood up as if to follow them.

  Bluestar looked back at him over her shoulder. “I think I’ll be safe enough with young Firepaw,” she meowed. Longtail looked uncertain for a moment, then sat down again outside the entrance.

  Firepaw had never been inside Bluestar’s den. He padded after her through the lichen that draped its entrance. “Brindleface’s kits are lovely,” he purred.

  Bluestar looked serious. “Lovely they may be, but they mean more mouths to feed, and the season of leaf-bare will soon be here.” Then she glanced at Firepaw, who was unable to hide his surprise at her melancholy tone. “Oh, don’t listen to me,” meo
wed Bluestar, shaking her head impatiently. “The first cold wind always worries me. Come; make yourself comfortable.” She tipped her head toward the dry, sandy floor.

  Firepaw dropped onto his belly and stretched his paws out in front of him.

  Bluestar circled slowly on her mossy nest. “I’m still aching from our training session yesterday,” she admitted when she had finally settled herself and curled her tail around her paws. “You fought well, young one.”

  For once, Firepaw didn’t stop to bask in her praise. His heart was thumping. This was the perfect moment to tell his leader his fears about Tigerclaw. He lifted his chin, ready to speak.

  But it was Bluestar who spoke first, staring past him at the far wall of her den. “I can still smell the stale stench of ShadowClan in the camp,” she murmured. “I hoped never to see the day when our enemy broke into the heart of ThunderClan.” Firepaw nodded in silent agreement, sensing Bluestar was going to say more.

  “And so many deaths.” She sighed. “First Redtail, then Lionheart. I thank StarClan at least the warriors we have left are strong and loyal like them. At least with Tigerclaw as deputy, ThunderClan may still be able to defend itself.” Firepaw’s heart plummeted and an icy chill cut deep into him as Bluestar went on. “There was a time, when Tigerclaw was a young warrior, that I feared for the strength of his passion. Such energy can need careful channeling. But now I am proud to see how much respect the Clan has for him. I know he is ambitious, but his ambition makes him one of the bravest cats I have ever had the honor to fight alongside.”

  Firepaw knew at once that he could not tell Bluestar his suspicions about Tigerclaw. Not when Bluestar looked to her deputy to protect the whole Clan. He would have to save Ravenpaw himself. He took a deep breath and blinked slowly, so that when Bluestar turned and looked directly into his eyes, no trace of his shock and disappointment remained.

  Her next words were quiet and full of concern. “You know Brokenstar will return. He made it clear at the Gathering that he wants hunting rights in all the territories.”

  “We fought him off once. We can do it again,” Firepaw insisted.

  “That’s true,” Bluestar acknowledged with a wry nod. “StarClan will honor your courage, young Firepaw.” She paused and licked a healing wound on her side. “I think you ought to know that, in the battle with the rats, it was not my fifth life that I lost, but my seventh.”

  Firepaw sat bolt upright, shocked.

  Bluestar went on. “I have let the Clan believe it was my fifth because I don’t want them to fear for my safety. But two more lives, and I will have to leave you to join StarClan.”

  Firepaw’s mind was racing. Why was she telling him this? “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bluestar,” he purred respectfully.

  Bluestar nodded. “I am tired now,” she rasped. “Off you go. And Firepaw, I don’t expect you to repeat this conversation to anyone.”

  “Of course, Bluestar,” Firepaw replied as he nosed his way out through the curtain of lichen.

  Longtail was still sitting by the entrance. Firepaw stepped past him and made his way toward his den. He didn’t know which part of his conversation with Bluestar had been more bewildering.

  He was stopped in his tracks by a yowl of horror coming from the nursery. Frostfur came sprinting into the clearing, her tail bristling and her eyes wide with alarm. “My kits! Someone has taken my kits!”

  Tigerclaw bounded over to her. He called to the Clan, “Quick, search the camp! Whitestorm, stay where you are. Warriors, patrol the camp boundary. Apprentices, search every den!”

  Firepaw rushed to the nearest den, the warriors’, and pushed his way inside. It was empty. He scrabbled through the bedding with his paws but there was neither sight nor scent of Frostfur’s kits.

  He charged outside and headed for his own den. Ravenpaw and Graypaw were already inside, pushing aside their nests, sniffing every corner. Dustpaw and Sandpaw were searching the elders’ den. Firepaw left them to it and charged from one clump of grass to another, pushing his muzzle into them, ignoring the nettles that stung his nose. There was no sign of the kits anywhere. He looked around the camp boundary. Warriors paced backward and forward, urgently sniffing the air.

  Suddenly Firepaw spotted Yellowfang in the distance. She was pushing her way through an unguarded part of fern wall. She must have found a scent, he thought, and raced toward her as her tail disappeared into the greenery. By the time he arrived at the fern wall, she had gone. He sniffed the air. No kit-scent, just the bitter smell of Yellowfang’s fear. What was she afraid of? Firepaw wondered.

  Tigerclaw’s yowl sounded from the bushes behind the nursery. All the cats raced over to him, headed by Frostfur. They crowded as closely as they could, jostling to see through the dense undergrowth. Firepaw nosed his way forward and saw Tigerclaw standing over a motionless bundle of dappled fur.

  Spottedleaf!

  Firepaw stared in disbelief at her lifeless body. Fury rose in him like a dark cloud, and he felt the blood roaring in his ears. Who had done this?

  Bluestar stepped through the crowd and leaned over the medicine cat. “She has been killed by a warrior blow,” she meowed softly.

  Firepaw craned his neck and saw a single wound on the back of Spottedleaf’s neck. His head swam and suddenly he was unable to see clearly.

  Through his grief, Firepaw heard a murmur at the back of the crowd that swelled into a single piercing yowl.

  “Yellowfang is gone!”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Yellowfang has killed Spottedleaf and taken my kits!” screeched Frostfur. The other queens rushed to Frostfur’s side and tried to calm her with licks and caresses, but Frostfur pushed them away and wailed her grief to the darkening sky. As if in reply, the sky rumbled ominously and a cold wind ruffled the cats’ fur.

  “Yellowfang!” hissed Tigerclaw. “I always knew she was a traitor. Now we know how she managed to fight off the ShadowClan deputy. It was a setup to let her trick her way into our Clan!”

  Lightning crackled overhead, punctuating Tigerclaw’s words with a glaring white flash, and a clap of thunder rolled around the woods.

  Firepaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dazed with grief, his mind whirled. Could Yellowfang really have killed Spottedleaf?

  Above the shocked murmurings, Darkstripe meowed loudly, “Bluestar! What do you say?”

  The cats fell silent as they turned to look at their leader.

  Bluestar’s gaze moved across the crowd of cats, and settled finally on Spottedleaf’s body. The first drops of rain began to fall, sparkling like dewdrops on the medicine cat’s still-glossy fur.

  Bluestar blinked slowly. Grief clouded her face, and for a moment Firepaw was afraid that this new death would overwhelm her. But when her eyes opened they glittered with a fierceness that showed her determination to seek revenge for this cruel attack. She lifted her head. “If Yellowfang has killed Spottedleaf and stolen Frostfur’s kits, she will be hunted down without mercy.” The crowd meowed approvingly. “But we must wait,” Bluestar went on. “There is a storm coming, and I am not prepared to risk more lives. If ShadowClan has our kits, they will come to no immediate harm. I suspect Brokenstar wants them as recruits for his own Clan, or as hostages—to force us to let him hunt in our territory. As soon as the storm has passed, a patrol will follow Yellowfang and bring back our kits.”

  “We cannot waste time, or the scent will be lost in the rain!” Tigerclaw protested.

  Bluestar flicked her tail impatiently. “If we send out a hunting party now, our efforts will be wasted anyway. In this weather the scent will already be lost by the time we are ready. If we wait until after the storm, we stand a better chance of success.”

  There were murmurs of agreement among the Clan. Even though it was barely sunhigh, the sky was growing much darker. The cats were unsettled by the lightning and thunder, and seemed willing to listen to their leader’s advice.

  Bluestar looked at her deputy. “I’d like to discuss o
ur plans with you, please, Tigerclaw.” Tigerclaw nodded and stalked away toward Bluestar’s den, but the leader hesitated. She glanced at Firepaw, signaling with a flick of her tail and a ripple of her whiskers that she wanted to speak to him alone.

  The other cats gathered around Spottedleaf and began to share tongues with her, their wails of grief sounding above the thunder. Bluestar wound her way through them and went toward the fern tunnel that led to Spottedleaf’s den.

  Firepaw quietly skirted the mourning cats and followed her inside. It was very dark beneath the ferns. The storm had blotted out the morning sun so that it seemed as if night had fallen. Rain was falling more heavily now, spattering noisily against the leaves, but at least it was sheltered in Spottedleaf’s clearing.

  “Firepaw,” Bluestar meowed urgently as he arrived at her side, “where is Yellowfang? Do you know?”

  Firepaw hardly heard her. He couldn’t help remembering the last time he had come to this clearing. An image of Spottedleaf, trotting out of her den with her coat gleaming in the sunlight, burned in his mind, and he closed his eyes to preserve it.

  “Firepaw,” snapped Bluestar, “you must save your grieving for later.”

  Firepaw shook himself. “I . . . I saw Yellowfang go through the camp boundary after the kits went missing. Do you really think she killed Spottedleaf and took the kits?”

  Bluestar gazed steadily at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want you to find her and bring her back—alive. I need to know the truth.”

  “You’re not sending Tigerclaw?” Firepaw couldn’t help asking.

  “Tigerclaw is a great warrior, but in this case his loyalty to the Clan may cloud his judgment,” Bluestar explained. “He wants to give the Clan the vengeance it desires. No cat can blame him for that. The Clan believes Yellowfang has betrayed us, and if Tigerclaw thinks he can reassure the Clan by handing them the dead body of Yellowfang, that’s what he will do.”

  Firepaw nodded. She was right—Tigerclaw would kill Yellowfang without question.

  Bluestar looked stern for a moment. “If I find that Yellowfang is a traitor, then I will kill her myself. But if she is not . . .” Her blue eyes burned into Firepaw’s. “I will not let an innocent cat die.”