Brokentail stayed crouching in his den, his head low as he stared unseeing at the ground. He had made not one sound during the battle. Fireheart wondered if he even knew what his adopted Clan had risked for him.
Close by, Brackenpaw struggled to his paws. Fur hung raggedly from one shoulder, and his coat was smeared with dust and blood, but his eyes glowed.
“Well done,” Fireheart meowed. “You fought like a warrior.”
The apprentice’s eyes shone even brighter.
Meanwhile the battered ThunderClan cats were gathered around Bluestar. All were muddy and bleeding, and they looked as exhausted as Fireheart felt. At first they were silent, their heads lowered. Fireheart could sense no triumph in their victory.
“You brought this on us!” It was Darkstripe who spoke, angrily confronting Bluestar. “You made us keep Brokentail here, and now we’ve been torn to pieces defending him. How long before one of us is killed for his sake?”
Bluestar looked troubled. “I never thought it would be easy, Darkstripe. But we must do what we believe is right.”
Darkstripe spat at her with contempt. “For Brokentail? For a couple of mousetails I’d kill him myself!”
Several of the other warriors mewed their agreement.
“Darkstripe.” Tigerclaw shouldered his way through the assembled cats to stand beside Bluestar, who looked suddenly old and fragile beside the huge dark tabby. “This is your leader you’re talking to. Show some respect.”
For a heartbeat Darkstripe glared at them both, then bowed his head. Tigerclaw swung his massive head, sweeping his amber gaze over all the cats.
“Fireheart, go and fetch Yellowfang,” meowed Bluestar.
Fireheart turned toward the medicine cat’s den, to see that she was already running stiffly across the clearing, followed closely by Cinderpaw. Quickly the two cats began to check the warriors’ wounds, searching out the ones who needed the most urgent treatment. As Fireheart waited for his turn, he saw another cat appear from the camp entrance. It was Graystripe. His fur was sleek and unmarked; a couple of pieces of fresh-kill dangled from his jaws.
Before Fireheart could move, Tigerclaw broke away from Cinderpaw and strode across to meet Graystripe in the middle of the clearing. “Where have you been?” he demanded.
Graystripe looked bewildered. He dropped the fresh-kill and meowed, “Hunting. What on earth happened here?”
“What does it look like?” snarled the deputy. “WindClan and ShadowClan invaded, trying to get at Brokentail. We needed every warrior, but it seems that you weren’t here. Where were you?”
With Silverstream, Fireheart answered silently. He thanked StarClan that at least Graystripe had brought back some prey, so he had a genuine reason for being away from camp.
“Well, how was I to know what was happening?” Graystripe protested to the deputy, beginning to look annoyed. “Or do I have to ask your permission before I set paw out of camp?”
Fireheart winced—Graystripe should have known better than to provoke Tigerclaw like that, but perhaps guilt was making him reckless.
Tigerclaw growled low in his throat. “You’re away too often for my liking—you and Fireheart.”
“Hang on!” Fireheart was stung into replying. “I was here today when the cats attacked. And it’s not Graystripe’s fault that he wasn’t.”
Tigerclaw let his cold gaze rest on Graystripe, and then Fireheart. “Just be careful,” he spat. “I’ve got my eye on you—both of you.” He swung around and stalked back to Cinderpaw.
“Like I care,” Graystripe muttered, but he didn’t meet Fireheart’s eyes.
While Graystripe went to take his prey to the pile of fresh-kill, Fireheart limped back to the medicine cats to have his wounds seen to.
“Hmph!” growled Yellowfang as she ran an expert eye over him. “If they’d pulled out much more of your fur, you’d look like an eel. But none of the wounds is deep. You’ll live.”
Cinderpaw came up with a wad of cobweb, which she pressed to the scratch over Fireheart’s eye. Gently she touched her nose to his. “You were brave, Fireheart,” she whispered.
“Not really.” Fireheart felt embarrassed. “We all did what we had to do.”
“But it’s not easy,” Yellowfang rasped unexpectedly. “I’ve fought battles in my time, and I know. Bluestar,” she went on, turning to the leader and facing her squarely, “thank you. It means a lot to me that you’d risk your Clan to protect Brokentail.”
Bluestar shook her head. “There’s no need for thanks, Yellowfang. It’s a matter of honor. Despite what Brokentail has done, he deserves our compassion now.”
The old medicine cat bowed her head. Softly, so that only Bluestar and Fireheart could hear, she mewed, “He has brought great danger to my adopted Clan, and for that I am sorry.”
Bluestar moved closer to her and gave her gray coat a comforting lick. For a moment the expression in her eyes was that of a mother soothing a fretful kit. A picture came into Fireheart’s mind of the Clan leader padding through the forest on the night of the Gathering, and the moonlight that shone on three silver coats—on Bluestar, Mistyfoot, and Stonefur.
Fireheart gasped. Was that really what he had seen? Three cats so identical that they could be nothing else but kin? Mistyfoot and Stonefur were sister and brother, he knew…and Graypool had told him that they had once borne the scent of ThunderClan.
Was it possible that Bluestar’s kits hadn’t died all those moons ago? Could it be that Mistyfoot and Stonefur were the ThunderClan leader’s lost kits?
CHAPTER 21
When Cinderpaw had finished tending to Fireheart’s wounds, he went to find Graystripe. His friend was hunched up inside the warriors’ den, his golden eyes troubled.
He looked up as Fireheart slipped between the branches. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know I should have been here. But I had to see Silverstream. I couldn’t get near her on the night of the Gathering.”
Fireheart sighed. For a moment, he had considered sharing his suspicions about Mistyfoot and Stonefur with his friend, but now he realized that Graystripe had more than enough worries of his own. “It’s okay, Graystripe. Any of us could have been away, patrolling or hunting. But if I were you, I’d stick around camp for the next few days, and make sure Tigerclaw sees you.”
Graystripe scraped absently at a piece of moss. Fireheart guessed he had already arranged to meet Silverstream again. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he meowed, deciding not to try to argue about this now. “About Brackenpaw.” Quickly he described how he and the apprentice had gone out early, and how Brackenpaw had scented the invading band of cats. “He fought well, too,” Fireheart remarked. “I think it’s time he became a warrior.”
Graystripe let out a purr of agreement. “Does Bluestar know this?”
“Not yet. You’re Brackenpaw’s mentor. You ought to recommend him.”
“But I wasn’t there.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Fireheart gave his friend a nudge. “Come on, let’s go and talk to Bluestar now.”
The ThunderClan leader and most of the warriors were still in the clearing, while Yellowfang and Cinderpaw distributed cobwebs to stop bleeding and poppy seeds for pain. Brindleface had brought out her kits to see what was going on, and Cloudkit was frisking around, pestering one warrior after another with questions about the battle. Brackenpaw was there, too, giving himself a thorough wash; Fireheart was relieved that he didn’t seem too badly hurt.
The two warriors went up to Bluestar, and Fireheart once more told the story of Brackenpaw’s skill at scenting their enemies, and his bravery in the battle. “It’s thanks to Brackenpaw that we had any warning at all,” he meowed.
“We think he should be made a warrior,” Graystripe added.
Bluestar nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. Brackenpaw showed himself worthy today.” She got up, paced into the middle of her cats, and raised her voice. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath
the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”