Thunder and Shadow

  Yellowfang purred louder. “I’d forgotten the impatience of youth.” She padded around him, letting her thick tail trail across his flank. “I came only to praise you for speaking out.”

  “When?” Alderpaw met her gaze, puzzled.

  “Just now. With the other medicine cats.” She stood still. “I wondered at first if you had what it takes to be a medicine cat, but now that I see that you are willing to say what you believe, I trust that StarClan made the right choice after all.”

  After all? Alderpaw frowned. “Didn’t you choose me?”

  “StarClan does not always speak with one voice.”

  Alderpaw remembered many dreamless moons. “Sometimes you don’t speak at all.”

  “Would you rather we guided your every paw step?” Yellowfang tipped her head. “Wouldn’t you rather walk your own path?”

  “I guess.” Alderpaw glanced past her, wondering if any other StarClan cats were here. “But there are some paths that are too hard to walk alone. And we can’t see some paths at all.” He thought of the missing Clan. “You never mention SkyClan. Do you know where they are?”

  Yellowfang blinked at him, giving nothing away. Alderpaw flexed his claws irritably. “Then what about ShadowClan?” He thought of Onestar and ShadowClan and the dying cats. “Why tell Puddleshine where to find lungwort without telling Onestar to let him gather it?”

  “What lesson would any cat learn from that?” Yellowfang began to fade, her pelt growing translucent in the bright sunshine.

  “Don’t go!” Alderpaw wanted to ask how he could help save ShadowClan. But Yellowfang was hardly more than a shimmering heat haze above the grass.

  “Speak out for what you believe.” Her mew whisked away on the breeze.

  Alderpaw opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the gloom of the hollow. The other cats were getting to their paws.

  Leafpool fluffed her fur out against the night air. “Did you share with StarClan?” she asked him.

  “Yellowfang told me to speak out for what I believe,” Alderpaw whispered.

  Leafpool glanced at Jayfeather, amusement flashing in her gaze. “That might not go down too well in the medicine den.”

  Kestrelflight whisked his tail. Excitement was burning in his eyes. “I spoke to them!” he mewed. “I know what to do. Follow me!” He bounded up the dimpled path to the rim of the hollow. “Harespring! It’s okay. StarClan says it’s okay!”

  Startled, Alderpaw hurried after the WindClan medicine cat. “What’s okay?”

  Mothwing, Willowshine, Jayfeather, and Leafpool followed.

  Puddleshine hurried at their heels. “What’s happening?”

  Kestrelflight was already jumping down the steep rocks after Harespring. The WindClan cats’ pelts were spiked. Alderpaw smelled fear-scent. They were scared! What of? Heart quickening anxiously, he scrambled down after them, relieved when they reached a flatter part of the stream.

  “It was Harespring’s idea,” Kestrelflight told him as he caught up to the WindClan medicine cat. “He insisted on being the only warrior to escort me tonight and told me about it on the way. I wasn’t sure. That’s why I had to ask StarClan.”

  Alderpaw’s thoughts swam. What was Kestrelflight talking about?

  The WindClan cat glanced over his shoulder toward the other medicine cats. “Hurry!” He beckoned them on with a flick of his tail and hurried after Harespring.

  “Where are we going?” Alderpaw fought for breath as he raced to keep up with the WindClan cats.

  “To the moor.” Kestrelflight nodded to where the heather-covered slopes reached down to the stream. Harespring was already crossing the border onto WindClan territory.

  As Kestrelflight followed him, Alderpaw hesitated at the scent line. “Onestar won’t want us on his territory.”

  Leafpool and Puddleshine caught up to them. They blinked at Kestrelflight and Harespring, puzzled. The WindClan cats had stopped and were staring at them expectantly.

  “Follow me!” The wind whipped Harespring’s call toward them. “But hurry! We have to be quick.”

  “We’re going to show you where the lungwort is,” Kestrelflight told them. “You can gather as much as you want.”

  “What about Onestar?” Alderpaw stared at him.

  “Onestar doesn’t know.” Harespring flicked his tail impatiently. “He can’t know. He’s wrong to let cats die. The rogues harmed us, not ShadowClan. ShadowClan shouldn’t have to pay for other cats’ cruelty.”

  Jayfeather, Mothwing, and Willowshine reached the border.

  “What’s going on?” Jayfeather puffed.

  “Harespring and Kestrelflight are going to let us gather lungwort. It was Harespring’s idea.” Alderpaw nodded toward the WindClan deputy, impressed by his compassion and sense of duty to the Clan cats beyond his borders. His pelt bristled with excitement, but as he gazed across the heather-pelted slope, fear hollowed his belly. What if a WindClan patrol found them? He pushed the thought away. Who cares? ShadowClan needed the herb. And StarClan had given its permission.

  Puddleshine had already crossed the scent line and was following Harespring, who was weaving between the heather bushes.

  Alderpaw hurried after them, Kestrelflight at his side. “Is it far?”

  “It’s just over the next rise,” Kestrelflight purred.

  The chill that comes before dawn was seeping through the forest, spreading deep into Alderpaw’s bones by the time he reached the ThunderClan camp. Leafpool carried the lungwort she’d gathered to the medicine den, nodding good night to Alderpaw as she went.

  Jayfeather paused in the empty clearing. Around them, gentle snores sounded from the shadowy dens.

  “Puddleshine still has a long night ahead of him,” he mewed softly to Alderpaw.

  “I wish I could have gone with him to help give the herbs to the sick cats.” Alderpaw’s heart ached with the hope that Puddleshine had gathered the herb soon enough to save his Clanmates.

  “There’s been enough sneaking around tonight,” Jayfeather murmured.

  “I hope Harespring and Kestrelflight don’t get into trouble.” Alderpaw fluffed out his fur against the chill.

  “Hopefully, Onestar won’t find out,” Jayfeather mewed. “But if he does, he’d be mouse-brained to turn on his deputy and his medicine cat. He needs their support, especially if he’s being as unreasonable with his Clanmates as he is with the rest of us.”

  Alderpaw’s thoughts flitted back to the fearful glances of the WindClan warriors as they’d watched their leader rage against Leafpool. “At least we may have saved some lives tonight.”

  “And we have our own stock of the herb in case the sickness ever reaches our forest.” Jayfeather shifted his paws.

  Alderpaw pressed back a shiver. Tiredness dragged at his bones, and he longed to head to his warm nest. But Jayfeather seemed to have something on his mind, so he waited in the dark clearing with him until, at last, the ThunderClan medicine cat spoke.

  “Well done, speaking up tonight.” His blind blue gaze flashed in the moonlight. “I wondered when you’d finally find your tongue.”

  “I’ve spoken up before—”

  Jayfeather cut him off. “Talking back to an old badger like me is not the same as standing up for what you believe to cats from other Clans. I was proud of you.”

  Alderpaw blinked, wondering if he was imagining Jayfeather’s words. Perhaps he had gone to his nest. Perhaps this was a dream.

  Jayfeather turned and headed for his den. “I think you may be ready to become a full medicine cat.”

  Alderpaw watched him go, too stunned to speak. Was it true? Was he going to get his full medicine cat name soon? Alderpatch. Alderleaf. Alderblaze. Possible names flitted through his mind as he headed for the apprentices’ den. Suddenly he hardly felt the cold. Warmth seeped through his pelt as he imagined the other medicine cats cheering his new name. He’d felt self-conscious being the only apprentice, especially when Puddleshine had been named after only two moons of trai
ning. Happily, he ducked into the den and climbed into his nest. Perhaps I will be a great medicine cat after all.

  CHAPTER 22

  Violetpaw tore another small morsel from the sparrow and laid it on the edge of Snowbird’s nest. The white she-cat was recovering well. In the half-moon since Puddleshine had returned to camp with the lungwort, the sickness that had gripped ShadowClan had slowly eased. But the stench of death still lingered in the ShadowClan camp. Wasptail had died the night after Kinkfur, and, more troubling, Crowfrost had been too ill to respond to the herb and had died a few days later. ShadowClan had lost its deputy.

  As Snowbird leaned forward and lapped up the scrap of sparrow flesh, Violetpaw glanced at Dawnpelt. Her mentor’s gaze was empty as she gently washed Oakfur’s pelt. It had been hard enough for Dawnpelt to lose Sleekwhisker and Juniperclaw to the rogues. But the death of her mate, Crowfrost, had been devastating. And yet Dawnpelt had carried on with her duties without complaining. Violetpaw wished that some of her other Clanmates could do the same. Mistcloud and Sparrowtail had hardly hunted since Kinkfur’s death. Violetpaw had heard them muttering about Crowfrost, even as he lay dying, blaming him for letting Twigpaw go. Had they convinced ThunderClan to help by keeping Twigpaw, they might have gotten the herb sooner and not lost their deputy.

  Mouse-brains! Violetpaw ripped away another piece of sparrow flesh and laid it in front of Snowbird. Puddleshine had managed to gather the herb without a hostage.

  Yarrowleaf snored gently in her nest, while Puddleshine leaned over Pinenose, listening to her breathing, his ear pressed against her ribs. Snowbird, Oakfur, Yarrowleaf, and Pinenose were the last four cats recovering from the sickness. In a few days they’d all be well, and the den would be cleared out to make way for fresh nests. The bramble shelter could become the warriors’ den once more. And with Rowanstar well enough to resume his role as leader, Violetpaw hoped that ShadowClan would start to feel more organized. Rowanstar was still weak, but he had made Tigerheart his new deputy and given Whorlpaw, Snakepaw, and Flowerpaw their apprentice names. The nursery was empty now, and Grassheart had returned to her warrior duties.

  Snakepaw had recovered quickly from the sickness once Puddleshine had administered the lungwort. Violetpaw could glimpse the honey-colored tabby now, lying in a strip of sunshine beside the clearing while Whorlpaw and Flowerpaw practiced stalking in the long grass behind her.

  “How are they?” Scorchfur’s urgent question made Violetpaw jump. She turned and saw the dark gray tom swagger into the den, a frown in his eyes. He must have come to check on Snowbird and Yarrowleaf.

  Puddleshine turned to face the tom. “Snowbird’s breathing is much better,” he reported. “And Yarrowleaf is well enough to leave her nest when she feels rested.”

  Yarrowleaf opened her eyes. “Hi, Scorchfur.” She greeted her father weakly.

  Scorchfur glowered at Puddleshine. “She doesn’t seem much better.”

  “She’s just tired. A long sleep will—”

  Scorchfur didn’t let the medicine cat finish his sentence. “She wouldn’t have gotten sick at all if Rowanstar had acted sooner. And she’d have had the lungwort quicker if Crowfrost hadn’t given away our hostage.”

  Puddleshine blinked at the tom. “That’s not true. Bramblestar said that Onestar refused to cooperate even when he knew we had Twigpaw.”

  “And why would Bramblestar tell us the truth? It was his apprentice we held.” Scorchfur scowled at him.

  Snowbird swallowed another morsel of sparrow. “Go easy on him, Scorchfur. Puddleshine has been a lifesaver. More would have died without him.”

  Scorchfur grunted. “And no cat would have died if we’d had stronger leaders.”

  Violetpaw narrowed her eyes. Who in the camp could have been stronger than Rowanstar and Crowfrost? The tom seemed determined to be dissatisfied. Perhaps he had been hoping to take Tigerheart’s place as deputy, and he was only expressing his resentment.

  Lionpaw broke into her thoughts. The young she-cat stuck her head through the den entrance. “How’s Pinenose?” She blinked at her mother anxiously.

  Puddleshine padded toward his littermate. “She’s much better today.”

  Spikefur’s mew sounded outside. “She’ll get well quicker if you stop pestering her, Lionpaw.”

  “I’m not pestering—”

  “Spikefur!” Pinenose called eagerly to her mate.

  The tom squeezed past Lionpaw and padded to her nest. “Has Puddleshine been taking good care of you?”

  “Of course.” Her gaze flitted to Puddleshine. “I’m very proud of him. He practically saved the Clan single-pawed.”

  Lionpaw huffed at the entrance. “I wish he’d told us he was going to gather lungwort. Birchpaw and I could have helped.” Was that envy in Lionpaw’s mew?

  “There wasn’t time to ask for help,” Puddleshine told his littermate. “If I hadn’t gathered it then, I couldn’t have gathered it at all.”

  “What made Onestar change his mind?” Scorchfur looked at Puddleshine, eyes glittering with suspicion.

  “Maybe StarClan sent him a message,” Puddleshine answered vaguely. He hadn’t told any cat exactly how he’d gotten his paws on the lungwort, and, clearly, he wasn’t going to share the information now.

  Scorchfur grunted and stalked from the den. Spikefur touched his muzzle fondly to Pinenose’s head, then followed.

  Dawnpelt blinked at Violetpaw. “You must be hungry.” They’d been helping Puddleshine with the sick cats since dawn. “Let’s go and see if there’s anything left on the fresh-kill pile.”

  Violetpaw left the sparrow beside Snowbird and nodded to Puddleshine. “Should I bring you something to eat?”

  Puddleshine shook his head. “I’ll fetch something when I’m done here.”

  The medicine cat looked skinnier than ever. Dawnpelt must have noticed too.

  “You need to take care of yourself,” the cream she-cat warned him. “If you collapse, there’s no one else to take care of the Clan.”

  Puddleshine dipped his head to her. “I won’t be long,” he promised.

  Violetpaw followed Dawnpelt to the fresh-kill pile. A vole and a lizard were left over from yesterday’s catch.

  Dawnpelt glanced around the camp. “Haven’t the hunting patrols been out yet?” The morning sun was lifting about the treetops. Mistcloud and Sparrowtail sat beside the flat rock, eyes half-closed. Scorchfur and Spikefur were murmuring to each other at the far end of the clearing.

  Tawnypelt was gazing expectantly toward Rowanstar’s den. Wasn’t the ShadowClan leader up yet? And where was Tigerheart?

  Strikestone padded toward Dawnpelt. He greeted his mother with a purr. “I hope Tigerheart organizes the hunting patrols soon.” He glanced at the vole and lizard. “I’m hungry for fresh prey.”

  Dawnpelt tossed the stale vole toward Violetpaw and pulled the lizard closer. “Why hasn’t Tigerheart organized the patrols?”

  “Rowanstar called him into his den,” Strikestone told her. “Maybe they’re deciding who’s fit to hunt.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t spend too long talking. Hungry bellies make grumpy cats.” She leaned down and tore the head off the lizard and began chewing it.

  Violetpaw shuddered. She’d never liked lizards, although her Clanmates happily gobbled them down as though they were a delicacy.

  She sniffed the vole. It still smelled stale, but she suddenly realized how hungry she was and bit into it. As its musky flavor bathed her tongue, she saw Strikestone turn his head toward Rowanstar’s den. Rowanstar and Tigerheart appeared at the entrance and padded out toward their Clanmates.

  Tawnypelt turned to face them at once. But Rippletail, eyes glinting with disdain, crossed the clearing and murmured something in Spikefur’s ear. The dark brown tom curled his lip, his icy gaze on Rowanstar.

  The vole seemed to turn dry in Violetpaw’s mouth. What were the warriors saying? Nothing pleasant, by the look of it.

  Tigerheart padded to the head of
the clearing, Rowanstar at his side. “We’ve been discussing the hunting patrols,” he called, his eyes flitting around the Clan. “Our Clanmates are recovering and have good appetites, but some are not yet fit to hunt. This means that the rest of us must hunt harder than ever. I want the fresh-kill pile full by this evening.”

  Scorchfur and Spikefur exchanged glances.

  Tigerheart went on. “Spikefur, take Lionpaw, Mistcloud, Whorlpaw, and Rippletail to the ditches and hunt there. Scorchfur, take Birchpaw, Grassheart, Flowerpaw, and Sparrowtail to the lake to hunt. Dawnpelt, take Violetpaw, Tawnypelt, and Strikestone to the alder grove near the border. There will be good hunting there now that it’s newleaf, but watch out for the rogues.”

  Dawnpelt straightened, swallowing the last of her lizard, and nodded to the deputy.

  Spikefur stared at Tigerheart. “Where will you and Rowanstar be hunting?”

  “Rowanstar needs to rest,” Tigerheart told him. “He’s still recovering from his illness.”

  “He looks fine to me,” Spikefur looked the leader up and down scornfully.

  Rowanstar’s eyes flashed. “I will hunt,” he mewed hoarsely, “if the Clan needs it.”

  Scorchfur nodded toward the den where the remaining sick cats lay. “The Clan needs it,” he growled.

  Worry darkened Tigerheart’s gaze. “You shouldn’t risk your health,” he mewed to Rowanstar.

  Rowanstar met his deputy’s gaze. “I must show my Clan I am still strong.”

  Spikefur snorted. “It’s a bit late for that.” Flicking his tail sharply, he headed out of camp, his patrol hurrying after him.

  Violetpaw watched him go, her pelt rippling with unease. Even ShadowClan’s warriors were showing no respect for their leader now. She glanced toward Dawnpelt, hoping for reassurance, but her mentor was already following the other patrols out of camp. I came back here because I wanted to live by the warrior code. But right now she felt as though ShadowClan had forgotten the one thing that made them warriors: they seemed to have forgotten loyalty.

  She followed Dawnpelt. Perhaps tonight’s Gathering will remind them what it is to be a true Clan.