Bluestar's Prophecy

  Rosetail was still chatting. “I’ve just seen Tawnyspots,” she reported. “He’s in the medicine den. Says he’s too sick to eat. Maybe he’ll stop being Clan deputy.”

  “What?” Bluefur snapped from her thoughts.

  “Sunstar will have to appoint someone else.”

  Bluefur blinked. “Stormtail?” The gray warrior would be pleased.

  “Or Adderfang?” Rosetail suggested.

  Bluefur narrowed her eyes. The deputy needed to have wisdom as well as courage. Not that Adderfang was mouse-brained, but he saw only as far as the battle and never beyond.

  “Maybe Thistleclaw.”

  Rosetail’s new suggestion made Bluefur gasp. “He’s too young!”

  “He says he’s going to be the youngest deputy the Clans have ever seen.”

  “No way.”

  “He talks about it all the time,” Rosetail meowed. “Deputy!” She snorted. “As if Sunstar would give him the chance to lead us all into battle at the flick of a tail!”

  Rigidly keeping her encounter with Thrushpelt out of her mind, Bluefur rummaged through Mumblefoot’s nest and plucked out the last ragged scrap of moss. With no apprentices in the Clan, the younger warriors were taking turns cleaning out the elders’ den. Since Bluefur had returned early from her morning patrol, she had volunteered to see to the elders by herself.

  “Lionheart’s going to bring fresh bracken later,” she told him.

  “Well, I hope it’s not too much later,” Weedwhisker complained. “You’ve hardly left me anything to rest on.”

  Larksong purred. “You’ve got plenty of padding to keep you comfortable till then.”

  It was true; after a prey-rich greenleaf, Weedwhisker was fatter than ever.

  “I promised Featherwhisker I’d check you for ticks as well,” Bluefur meowed.

  Stonepelt shook his broad head. “We can do that ourselves,” he assured her.

  “But what if—”

  “If we find any, I’ll go to Featherwhisker for the bile myself.”

  “Thanks.” Bluefur was grateful. She wanted to be out in the forest patrolling and hunting for her Clan. She had a lot of catching up to do.

  Just then, however, Sunstar called from outside the fallen tree, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath Highrock.”

  Bluefur wondered why he still used Pinestar’s traditional call to the Clan; everyone knew Frostkit, Brindlekit, Spottedkit, Willowkit, and Redkit would be bundling out of the nursery to find out what was going on, even though they weren’t old enough to recognize prey, let alone catch it.

  Tigerkit was already in the middle of the clearing, gazing up at Sunstar, when Bluefur pushed her way from the tangle of branches. Swiftbreeze and Robinwing were squeezing out of the nursery, their kits wriggling out beside them, eyes bright with excitement. Fuzzypelt and White-eye were on their paws beside the nettle patch. Lionheart and Goldenflower were dragging a bundle of bracken through the camp entrance; they abandoned it beside the barrier of gorse and hurried to join their Clanmates. Adderfang had been stretched outside the warriors’ den, and Poppydawn and Speckletail had been chatting with Windflight and Dappletail at the edge of the clearing. They all came to join Featherwhisker and Goosefeather, who sat beside Sparrowpelt with their tails wrapped neatly over their paws.

  As Bluefur settled beside Rosetail, she noticed Tawnyspots, thin and trembling, crouched in the fern tunnel, shadows dappling his dull pelt.

  The Clan stared up expectantly at the ThunderClan leader.

  “Clanmates, it’s time to welcome a new apprentice.” Sunstar, his eyes fixed on Tigerkit, leaped down from Highrock and beckoned the young tom forward. Leopardfoot quivered with pride as the ThunderClan leader went on.

  “Tigerkit is six moons old and more than ready to begin his training. From this day, until he earns his warrior name, he shall be known as Tigerpaw.”

  Bluefur leaned forward, eager to know who his mentor would be. Only that morning, Sunstar had hinted that Bluefur was nearly ready for her own apprentice.

  “Thistleclaw will be his mentor.”

  The spiky warrior padded forward, tail high, and pressed his broad muzzle to Tigerpaw’s head.

  “Tigerpaw! Tigerpaw!” As the Clan cheered his name, Bluefur tried to push away a pang of disappointment. Why had Sunstar chosen Thistleclaw over her? He hadn’t been a warrior as long, and didn’t Sunstar see how dangerous he could be?

  Rosetail leaned closer, her breath warm in Bluefur’s ear. “Now he’s going to be even more convinced he’ll be the next deputy,” she whispered.

  A shiver ran down Bluefur’s spine and she unsheathed her claws, feeling an odd twinge, as though she were about to go into battle.

  Something small brushed behind her. She turned to see Whitekit, who had crept away from his denmates. “I’m glad he didn’t make Tigerpaw your apprentice,” he mewed. “I want you to be my mentor.”

  Bluefur glanced at Sunstar. He was watching, eyes narrow. He nodded very slightly as though agreeing with the little white kit. She would be a mentor soon. But would it be soon enough to let her become the next Clan deputy? Her belly tightened when she saw Tawnyspots padding unsteadily back down the fern tunnel.

  Poppydawn padded forward as Sunstar went on. “I have one more announcement,” the ThunderClan leader meowed. “Poppydawn has decided to move into the elders’ den.”

  Bluefur blinked. She hadn’t realized Poppydawn was so old, though now that she thought about it, she realized the dark brown she-cat often trailed at the back of the patrols and brought home smaller and weaker fresh-kill than her Clanmates did. For the first time she noticed flecks of gray around the warrior’s muzzle.

  Poppydawn dipped her head. “I am grateful to my Clan for giving me the chance to serve them this long, and for the peaceful life I will have as an elder,” she meowed formally.

  Her Clanmates streamed around her, brushing muzzles, flicking tails.

  Tigerpaw shouldered his way through the crowd and touched his nose to Poppydawn’s. “I’ll take better care of you than any other apprentice!” he promised.

  “That won’t be hard,” Rosetail whispered. “Considering he’s the only one.”

  Bluefur’s whiskers twitched in amusement, but she couldn’t help admiring the young tom’s eagerness, remembering how much she’d resented the dull chores like clearing out dens. Tigerpaw was certainly determined to live by the warrior code. She just prayed Thistleclaw didn’t teach him that fighting was more important than caring for his Clanmates.

  “Finally”—Sunstar had one more announcement—“while Tawnyspots is ill, Adderfang will stand in as deputy.”

  Stormtail nodded to his denmate as Adderfang puffed out his chest.

  “Tawnyspots will return to his duties once he’s recovered,” Sunstar added.

  Uneasy glances flashed between Stormtail, Fuzzypelt, and Adderfang. Clearly the senior warriors weren’t as certain of Tawnyspots’s recovery as their leader was.

  Goosefeather stepped forward. “I need help gathering herbs,” he announced. The Clan stared at him. Bluefur guessed they were as surprised as she was that the medicine cat was acting like a medicine cat again.

  “Bluefur?” Goosefeather tipped his head to one side. “Would you come?”

  Bluefur glanced at Sunstar, waiting for permission. The ThunderClan leader nodded. Anxiety fluttered in her belly. Why had Goosefeather picked her? She felt less than comfortable as she followed the shambling tom into the forest. Did he want to talk about the prophecy? She’d assumed he’d forgotten—and was beginning to think that it had just been one of his wild predictions that came to nothing. If not the prophecy, perhaps StarClan had told him about her meeting with Oakheart, and the feelings he’d stirred in her that she had been trying so hard to ignore. StarClan, after all, saw everything. Why wouldn’t they share it with the Clan’s medicine cat?

  “I see you’ve taken an interest in Whitekit,” Goosefeather observed as they climbed a
leafy slope.

  “He’s my kin,” she mewed.

  “So am I,” he reminded her, “but you don’t visit me.”

  That’s because you’re madder than a hare.

  She pushed away the thought, suddenly frightened that he could read her mind.

  “I’m glad you’re watching out for him,” Goosefeather went on. “He’s got a good heart, but young kits are easily influenced.”

  Was he warning her about Thistleclaw again? She wanted to ask him straight out, but didn’t dare. After all, Thistleclaw was a loyal warrior who’d done nothing but protect and feed his Clan. Her worries might sound weird.

  “Have you thought about the prophecy?” he asked.

  So he had remembered!

  She nodded.

  “Good.” Goosefeather stopped beside a small, leafy plant that smelled zesty. Bluefur wrinkled her nose as he began to tear off leaves with his paws. “Harvest it like this,” he ordered. “Don’t use your teeth, or your tongue will be numb for days.”

  Bluefur nodded and began to pluck the leaves. They were surprisingly strong for such lush-looking leaves, and she found herself having to tug hard to pull them up. Goosefeather padded to a smooth silver birch and started tearing off strips of the bark with deft claws. The strips curled in a pile beside him.

  “Have you thought of becoming the next Clan deputy?” he asked, without looking around.

  Bluefur hesitated. Should she admit her ambition? She was still young. Would he think she was greedy?

  “So you have,” Goosefeather concluded. “That’s good.”

  “But I don’t even have an apprentice yet,” Bluefur pointed out. “There’s no way Sunstar will make me deputy. I’m too young.”

  “Tawnyspots won’t die yet,” Goosefeather rasped. “There’s still time. But you’re going to have to work for it.”

  Bluefur wasn’t convinced. “There are so many warriors more experienced than me. Adderfang, for example.”

  “Sunstar wants a cat with youth and energy to serve beside him.” Goosefeather peeled off another curl of silver bark. “If he wants advice, he can go to the senior warriors any time he likes. He doesn’t have to make them deputy for that. His deputy must be a cat he feels he can train—a cat who is not set in old ways, a cat who is open to new ideas.”

  “Someone like Thistleclaw?” Bluefur ventured.

  Goosefeather growled. “That young warrior is the reason you must become deputy. Blood lies in his path. Fire lies in yours.”

  Bluefur stopped pulling leaves as she felt the medicine cat’s gaze burn her fur. He was staring at her, his eyes ablaze. “You must concentrate on nothing else!” he hissed. “What could be better in this time of bitter frost than a blazing fire? Your Clan needs you. Don’t let anything distract you!”

  Did he mean Whitekit? Surely not! He had only just encouraged her to help raise the young tom. But what else could he mean? Oakheart?

  “Take these herbs back.” Goosefeather pushed his curls of bark onto Bluefur’s pile of leaves. “And leave me in peace.”

  Dizzy with surprise, Bluefur hardly tasted the tang of the herbs as she grasped them in her jaws and padded unsteadily back to camp. Was this part of the prophecy? If only Snowfur were alive, she could talk to her about it. Snowfur might make sense of the medicine cat’s warnings. Even if she didn’t believe them, her honesty might help Bluefur untangle the jumble of emotions seething in her belly.

  A sandy-gray pelt flashed through a swath of ferns ahead.

  Thrushpelt.

  “Hi!” He greeted her warmly. “Can I help?”

  Her mouth full, Bluefur nodded and dropped some of her load. Thrushpelt picked it up and headed away to the ravine. Bluefur wondered if he’d been waiting for her. She felt a pang of regret. Why couldn’t he spark the same feeling in her as Oakheart did?

  They bounded down the ravine and took the herbs to the medicine den. Dropping them at Featherwhisker’s paws, Bluefur spotted Tawnyspots’s damp pelt poking from a nest hollowed from the fern wall. “Is he going to be okay?” she whispered.

  “These herbs should help,” Featherwhisker replied.

  Tawnyspots won’t die yet. Goosefeather’s words rang in Bluefur’s ears. But there had been urgency in the medicine cat’s words. Tawnyspots wasn’t going to live forever, and she had to be ready.

  Thrushpelt was waiting for her when she emerged from the fern tunnel. “So, who do you think will be our next deputy?”

  Bluefur stared at him in shock. Had he overheard her talking with Goosefeather? “What?”

  “Well, Featherwhisker only said the herbs would help. He didn’t say that Tawnyspots was going to be okay.”

  He hasn’t heard anything. Thank StarClan. “I guess.”

  “Thistleclaw’s got his heart set on it,” Thrushpelt went on.

  Am I the only cat in ThunderClan who’s afraid of Thistleclaw’s ambitions?

  “But,” Thrushpelt mewed thoughtfully, “there are plenty of senior warriors to choose from. Adderfang is the logical choice.”

  “Unless Sunstar prefers youth to experience.” Bluefur found herself using Goosefeather’s argument.

  Thrushpelt glanced at her. “I hadn’t thought of that.” His nose twitched as they neared the fresh-kill pile. Two juicy sparrows lay on top. “You hungry?”

  Wasn’t Thrushpelt the slightest bit interested in becoming deputy? He certainly didn’t have Oakheart’s fire and ambition; it was clear from the way the RiverClan warrior had addressed the Clan from the Great Rock that he planned to be leader himself one day.

  Bluefur shifted her paws, relieved to see Rosetail eating alone. “I’d better keep Rosetail company,” she meowed quickly and, grabbing a sparrow, hurried to join her friend.

  She passed Stormtail and Dappletail in their usual spot beside the nettle patch, sharing a squirrel. They spent so much time together now that most of the Clan were waiting for an announcement about kits, but Bluefur had heard Poppydawn tell Swiftbreeze that some she-cats never had kits, however much they wanted them.

  Bluefur continued through the camp. Sparrowpelt and Fuzzypelt were patching the nursery with freshly fallen leaves. Robinwing had brought Whitekit out of the nursery and was washing him.

  “Hello, Bluefur!” he called, trying to duck away from Robinwing’s tongue, but Robinwing pulled him back and held him still with a firm paw.

  Rosetail looked up as Bluefur approached. “I have never seen any cat look so disappointed.” She was gazing at Thrushpelt, who looked lost beside the fresh-kill pile.

  “Shut up.” Bluefur flung her sparrow on the ground and lay down.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Rosetail demanded. “I wish I had a cat following me around like that.”

  “I don’t have time for a mate.”

  Rosetail’s gaze sharpened. “You have your eye on the deputyship, don’t you?”

  Bluefur’s ears burned. “So what if I do?”

  Rosetail shrugged. “Well, not many cats get to be deputy, so don’t miss out on other things while you’re waiting.”

  As she washed her face after her meal, Goosefeather padded into the clearing, burrs sticking from his pelt. He took a piece of fresh-kill and started wolfing it down.

  “Does he have to eat so noisily?” Bluefur complained, feeling queasy. She tried to imagine Goosefeather as a fit young apprentice, but couldn’t. He’d probably been born a shambling old badger. It was hard to believe that he and Moonflower had been littermates.

  Tigerpaw burst through the gorse tunnel, his eyes bright. Thistleclaw padded in after. They must have been training. Tigerpaw was still bursting with energy.

  “Can we practice those battle moves again?” he asked his mentor.

  “Practice by yourself for a while.” Thistleclaw padded to the fresh-kill pile.

  “But who am I going to fight?” Tigerpaw called after him.

  “Use your imagination,” Thistleclaw growled back.

  Tigerpaw glanced around the clearing. Bl
uefur stiffened when the young apprentice’s gaze came to rest on Whitekit, dozing beside Robinwing in the afternoon sunshine. Relief flooded her as his gaze moved on.

  “I could fight a whole Clan of enemies,” he boasted to no cat in particular.

  Poppydawn was dragging bracken across the clearing. She looked up. “RiverClan had better watch out,” she purred.

  Leopardfoot trotted over from the warriors’ den. “You’re back,” she meowed happily. She sniffed her son’s pelt. “Any injuries?”

  “Not yet.” Tigerpaw sounded disappointed. “But I learned a new move. Watch this!” He kicked his hind legs in the air, then landed with a twist and a slash of a forepaw.

  Brindlekit and Frostkit had slid out of the nursery to watch the young tom. Frostkit’s eyes were huge and round with admiration.

  “Very good!” Adderfang called from beside the nettle patch.

  Stormtail nodded. “I couldn’t do better.”

  Bluefur narrowed her eyes. The strength in the young tom’s shoulders was impressive and his claws seemed to have outgrown the rest of him. They’d left scars in the earth so deep it made her shiver.

  Only Goosefeather didn’t look up to admire Tigerpaw. He hunched tighter over his fresh-kill. “I’m sorry, StarClan,” he muttered. “That cat should not have survived. This was never meant to happen.”

  Startled, Bluefur looked around. None of the other cats seemed to have heard him. Only her. Does Goosefeather believe that Tigerpaw should have died?

  CHAPTER 32

  “Look!” Whitekit trotted across the clearing and tossed a moss ball at Frostkit. “I found another one.”

  Frostkit crouched, ready to pounce, but Brindlekit scooted past her and pawed the ball away. Spottedkit, Redkit, and Willowkit sat like three baby owls outside the nursery, their eyes fixed on the moss as the older kits tossed it back and forth.

  Bluefur purred as it rolled to her paws. She hooked it up and held it high, making the kits jump for it.

  Robinwing and Swiftbreeze lay dozing in the pale leaf-bare sun. Robinwing opened one eye. “Thanks for keeping them busy, Bluefur.”