Forest of Secrets

by Erin Hunter

  So far the Clan cats were finding it hard to accept another kittypet among them even though Brindleface treated him like one of her own kits. Fireheart knew from experience how much determination Cloudkit would need to make a place for himself.

  As he drew closer, Fireheart heard the white kit complaining loudly to Brindleface. “Why can’t I be an apprentice? I’m nearly as big as that dumb ginger kit of Frostfur’s!”

  Fireheart’s interest quickened. Bluestar must be about to perform the apprentice-naming ceremony for Frostfur’s two remaining kits. Their brother and sister, Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw, had been named apprentices a few moons ago, and Fireheart could guess that these two must be desperate for their own naming. He was glad that he had returned in time to witness it.

  “Shh!” Brindleface whispered to Cloudkit, as she gathered her kits around her and found them a place to sit. “You can’t be an apprentice until you’re six moons old.”

  “But I want to be an apprentice now!”

  Fireheart left Brindleface trying to explain Clan customs to the insistent Cloudkit and went to sit near the front of the gathering, next to Sandstorm.

  Her head whipped around in alarm as he took his place. “Fireheart! Where have you been? You smell like a fox that’s been dead for a moon!”

  “Sorry,” Fireheart mumbled. “It was an accident.” He hated the stench as much as any cat, and he didn’t like having to lie to Sandstorm about how he came to smell like that.

  “Well, stay away from me till it wears off!” Though Sandstorm’s words were firm, there was laughter in her eyes as she shifted a tail-length away from him.

  “And clean yourself up before you come into the den,” growled a familiar voice. Fireheart turned to see Tigerclaw standing behind him. “I’m not going to sleep with that stink in my nose!”

  Fireheart dipped his head in embarrassment as Tigerclaw stalked away, then looked up as Bluestar began to speak.

  “We are gathered here to give two Clan kits their apprentice names.” She glanced down to where Frostfur was sitting proudly, with her tail curled neatly over her paws. The two kits sat one on each side of her, and as Bluestar spoke, the bigger of them, a ginger kit like his brother Brackenpaw, sprang impatiently to his paws.

  “Yes, come forward, both of you,” Bluestar invited warmly.

  The ginger kit dashed forward and skidded to a stop at the foot of the Highrock. His sister followed more sedately. She was white like her mother, except for ginger patches along her back, and a ginger tail.

  Fireheart closed his eyes for a moment. Not long ago, he had been given Cinderpaw as his apprentice. He half wished that he could be mentor to one of these kits, but he knew that if Bluestar had chosen him for this honor, she would have already told him to expect it.

  Perhaps she would never choose him again, he thought with a pang that chilled his heart, after he had failed Cinderpaw so badly.

  “Mousefur,” meowed Bluestar, “you have told me that you are ready to take on an apprentice. You will be mentor to Thornpaw.”

  Fireheart watched as Mousefur, a wiry, compact she-cat with brown fur, stepped forward and went to stand beside the ginger kit, who scampered up to meet her.

  “Mousefur,” Bluestar went on, “you have shown yourself a brave and intelligent warrior. See that you pass on your courage and wisdom to your new apprentice.”

  While Bluestar spoke, Mousefur looked just as proud as the newly named Thornpaw. The two of them touched noses and withdrew to the edge of the clearing. Fireheart could hear Thornpaw meowing eagerly, as if he was already plying his mentor with questions.

  The ginger-and-white kit was still standing beneath the Highrock, looking up at Bluestar. Fireheart was close enough to see her whiskers quivering with anticipation.

  “Whitestorm,” Bluestar announced, “you are free to take a new apprentice now that Sandstorm has become a warrior. You will be mentor to Brightpaw.”

  The big white cat, who had been stretched out at the front of the gathering, stood up and padded over to Brightpaw. She waited for him with her eyes shining.

  “Whitestorm,” meowed Bluestar, “you are a warrior of great skill and experience. I know that you will pass on all you know to this young apprentice.”

  “Certainly,” Whitestorm purred. “Welcome, Brightpaw.” He bent to touch noses with her, and escorted her back to the assembled cats.

  The other cats began to gather around, congratulating the two new apprentices and calling them by their new names. As he went to join them, Fireheart caught sight of Graystripe at the back of the crowd, beside the tunnel. His friend must have returned to camp unseen while the rest of the Clan were listening to Bluestar.

  “It’s all arranged,” Graystripe mewed softly, padding over to Fireheart. “If it’s sunny tomorrow, Silverstream and Mistyfoot will persuade Graypool to leave the camp for some exercise. They’ll meet us at sunhigh.”

  “Where?” Fireheart asked, not sure that he wanted to go far into RiverClan territory two days running. It was dangerous to leave so much fresh ThunderClan scent there.

  “There’s a quiet glade just over the border, not far from the Twoleg bridge,” Graystripe explained. “Silverstream and I used to meet there, before, you know…”

  Fireheart understood. Graystripe had been keeping his promise about meeting Silverstream only at Fourtrees, and it was only because of his desire to find out about the Sunningrocks battle that they were taking an extra risk. “Thank you,” he murmured sincerely.

  As he padded over to the pile of fresh-kill to choose a piece for himself, his paws twitched in anticipation of the next sunhigh, when he would discover what Graypool knew of this mystery.

  “This is the place,” Graystripe whispered.

  He and Fireheart were only a few rabbit-hops over the RiverClan border, on their own side of the river. The ground gave way to a deep hollow, sheltered by thornbushes. Snow had drifted there, and a tiny stream, frozen now into icicles, carved a deep channel between two rocks. Fireheart guessed that when newleaf came and the snow melted, this would be a beautiful and well-hidden place.

  The two cats squeezed under one of the thornbushes and scrabbled among the dead leaves to make comfortable nests while they waited. Fireheart had caught a mouse on the way and brought it as a gift for Graypool. He dropped it where the leaves were driest, trying to forget his own hunger, and settled down with his paws tucked under him. He knew he was putting himself and his friends in danger with this meeting, not to mention the fact that he was breaking the warrior code and lying to his Clan—yet he believed that this was all for the sake of his Clan. Fireheart only wished he could be sure that the path he had chosen was the right one.

  The weak leaf-bare sunlight glittered on the snow in the hollow. Sunhigh had come and gone, and Fireheart was beginning to think the other cats weren’t coming when he caught a RiverClan scent and heard a thin, elderly voice raised in complaint from the direction of the river.

  “This is too far for my old bones. I’m going to freeze to death.”

  “Nonsense, Graypool, it’s a beautiful day.” That was Silverstream. “The exercise will do you good.”

  Fireheart heard a snort of contempt in response. Three cats came into view, picking their way down the side of the hollow. Two of them were Silverstream and Mistyfoot. The third was an elder he had never seen before, a skinny she-cat with patchy fur and a scarred muzzle turning white with age.

  Halfway down the hollow she paused, stiffening as she sniffed the air. “There are ThunderClan cats here!” she hissed.

  Fireheart saw Silverstream and Mistyfoot exchange a worried glance. “Yes, I know,” Mistyfoot soothed the elderly she-cat. “It’s all right.”

  Graypool gave her a suspicious look. “What do you mean, all right? What are they doing here?”

  “They just want to talk to you,” Mistyfoot said gently. “Trust me.”

  For a heartbeat Fireheart was afraid the elder would turn back, yowling, to raise the alarm,
but to his relief Graypool’s curiosity was too much for her. She padded after Mistyfoot, shaking her paws with disgust as they sank into the soft snow.

  “Graystripe?” Silverstream mewed warily.

  Graystripe stuck his head out of the bush. “We’re here.”

  The three RiverClan cats pushed their way into the prickly shelter. Graypool tensed as she came face to face with Fireheart and Graystripe, and her yellow eyes flared with hostility.

  “This is Fireheart, and this is Graystripe,” meowed Silverstream. “They—”

  “Two of them,” Graypool interrupted. “There had better be a good explanation for this.”

  “There is,” Mistyfoot assured her. “They’re decent cats—for ThunderClan, anyway. Give them a chance to explain.”

  Both she and Silverstream looked expectantly at Fireheart.

  “We need to talk to you,” Fireheart began, feeling his whiskers twitch nervously. He pushed the piece of fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “Here, I brought you this.”

  Graypool eyed the mouse. “Well, at least you remember your manners, ThunderClan or not.” She crouched down and began to crunch the fresh-kill, showing teeth broken with age. “Stringy, but it’ll do,” she rasped, gulping.

  While she was still eating, Fireheart tried to find the right words for what he needed to say. “I want to ask you about something Oakheart said before he died,” he ventured.

  Graypool’s ears twitched.

  “I heard what happened in the battle at the Sunningrocks,” Fireheart continued. “Before he died, Oakheart told one of our warriors that no ThunderClan cat should ever harm Stonefur. Do you know what he might have meant?”

  Graypool did not reply until she had swallowed the last morsel of mouse and swiped a remarkably pink tongue around her muzzle. Then she sat up and curled her tail around her paws. She fixed a thoughtful gaze on Fireheart for several long moments, until he felt that she could see everything that was in his mind.

  “I think you should go,” she mewed at last to the two young RiverClan cats. “Go on, out. You too,” she added to Graystripe. “I’ll talk to Fireheart alone. I can see he’s the one who needs to know.”

  Fireheart bit back a protest. If he insisted that Graystripe should stay, the RiverClan elder might refuse to talk at all. He looked at his friend and saw his own puzzled expression reflected in Graystripe’s yellow eyes. What did Graypool have to say that she didn’t want her own Clan to hear? Fireheart shivered, and not from the cold. Some instinct told him there was a secret here, dark as the shadow of a crow’s wing. But if it was a RiverClan secret, he couldn’t imagine what it could have to do with ThunderClan.

  From the glances they exchanged, Silverstream and Mistyfoot were just as confused, but they started to back out from the bush without protest.

  “We’ll wait for you near the Twoleg bridge,” Silverstream mewed.

  “There’s no need,” Graypool hissed impatiently. “I may be old, but I’m not helpless. I’ll find my own way back.”

  Silverstream shrugged and the two RiverClan cats withdrew, with Graystripe following them.

  Graypool sat in silence until the scents of the cats who had left began to fade. “Now,” she began, “Mistyfoot has told you that I’m her mother, and Stonefur’s?”

  “Yes.” Fireheart’s initial nervousness was ebbing away, to be replaced with respect for this ancient enemy queen, as he sensed the wisdom beneath her apparent short temper.

  “Well,” growled the old cat, “I’m not.” As Fireheart opened his mouth to speak, she went on. “I brought the pair of them up as kits, but I didn’t give birth to them. Oakheart brought them to me in the middle of leaf-bare, when they were just a few days old.”

  “But where did Oakheart get the kits?” Fireheart blurted out.

  Graypool’s eyes narrowed. “He told me he found them in the forest, as if they’d been abandoned by rogue cats or Twolegs,” she meowed. “But I’m not stupid, and my nose has always worked just fine. The kits smelled of the forest all right, but there was another scent underneath. The scent of ThunderClan.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “What?” Fireheart was so astonished he could hardly speak. “Are you saying that Mistyfoot and Stonefur came from ThunderClan?”

  “Yes.” Graypool gave her chest fur a couple of licks. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Fireheart was stunned. “Did Oakheart steal them?” he asked.

  Graypool’s fur bristled, and she drew her lips back in a snarl. “Oakheart was a noble warrior. He would never stoop to stealing kits!”

  “I’m sorry.” Alarmed, Fireheart crouched and flattened his ears. “I didn’t mean…It’s just so hard to believe!”

  Graypool sniffed, and her fur gradually lay flat again. Fireheart was still struggling with what she had just told him. If Oakheart hadn’t stolen the kits, perhaps rogue cats had taken them from the ThunderClan camp—but why? And why abandon them so quickly, when the scent of their Clan was still on their fur?

  “Then…if they were ThunderClan kits, why did you look after them?” he stammered. What Clan would willingly take in enemy kits, and in a season when prey was already scarce?

  Graypool shrugged. “Because Oakheart asked me to. He may not have been deputy back then, but he was a fine young warrior. I’d recently given birth to kits of my own, but all except one died in the bitter cold. I had plenty of milk to spare, and the poor little scraps would never have lived to see the sunrise if some cat hadn’t cared for them. Their ThunderClan scent soon faded,” she went on. “And even if Oakheart hadn’t told the truth about where they came from, I respected him enough not to ask any more questions. Thanks to Oakheart, and to me, they grew into strong kits, and now they’re good warriors—a credit to their Clan.”

  “Do Mistyfoot and Stonefur know all this?” Fireheart asked.

  “Now listen to me,” rasped Graypool. “Mistyfoot and Stonefur know nothing, and if you tell them what I’ve just told you, I’ll rip your liver out and feed it to the crows.” She thrust her head forward and drew her lips back as she spoke, baring her teeth. In spite of her age, Fireheart flinched.

  “They never doubted that I’m their real mother,” Graypool growled. “I like to think they even look a bit like me.”

  As she spoke, Fireheart felt something stir in his mind, like the twitch of a fallen leaf that betrayed the mouse sheltering beneath it. He thought that what Graypool had just said should mean something to him, but when he tried to capture the thought it scuttled away.

  “They have always been loyal to RiverClan,” Graypool insisted. “I don’t want that loyalty to be divided now. I’ve heard the gossip about you, Fireheart—I know you were once a kittypet—so you should understand more than any cat what it means to have a paw in two places.”

  Fireheart knew he would never make any cat go through the uncertainties that he suffered himself about not fully belonging to his Clan. “I promise I’ll never tell them,” he meowed solemnly. “I swear it by StarClan.”

  The old cat relaxed and stretched, her front paws extended and her rump in the air. “I accept your word, Fireheart,” she replied. “I don’t know if this has helped you at all. But it might explain why Oakheart would never let a ThunderClan cat harm Mistyfoot or Stonefur. Even if he claimed to know nothing about where they came from, he would have smelled the ThunderClan scent on them as clearly as I did. As far as they’re concerned, they are loyal only to RiverClan, but it would seem that Oakheart’s loyalties were divided on their behalf.”

  “I’m very grateful to you,” Fireheart purred, trying to sound as respectful as he could. “I don’t know what this means in relation to what I have to find out, but I really think it’s important, for both our Clans.”

  “That’s as may be,” mewed Graypool. She frowned. “But now that I’ve told you everything, you must leave our territory.”

  “Of course,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t even know I’ve been here. And Graypool…” He pause
d before thrusting his way out of the bush and held her pale yellow gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”

  Fireheart’s mind was spinning as he returned to the camp. Mistyfoot and Stonefur had ThunderClan blood! But they belonged entirely to RiverClan now, with no idea of their divided heritage. Blood loyalty and Clan loyalty were not always the same, Fireheart reflected. His own kittypet roots did not make his commitment to ThunderClan any less strong.

  And perhaps now that Mistyfoot had confirmed how Oakheart had died, Bluestar would be willing to accept that Tigerclaw had killed Redtail. Fireheart decided to ask her about Graypool’s latest revelation too; Bluestar might be able to tell him if a pair of kits had ever been stolen from the ThunderClan camp.

  When he reached the clearing, Fireheart made straight for the Highrock. As he approached Bluestar’s den, he heard two cats meowing together, and picked up Tigerclaw’s scent along with Bluestar’s. Quickly he pressed himself against the rock, hoping to stay out of sight, as the deputy shouldered his way out past the curtain of lichen that screened the mouth of the den.

  “I’ll try a hunting patrol toward the Snakerocks,” the dark tabby called over his shoulder. “No cat has hunted there for a few days.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Bluestar, following him out. “Prey is still scarce. May StarClan grant the thaw comes soon.”

  Tigerclaw grunted agreement and loped off toward the warriors’ den, not noticing Fireheart where he crouched by the rock.

  When he had gone, Fireheart padded up to the mouth of the den. “Bluestar,” he called, as the Clan leader turned to go back inside. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Very well,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “Come in.”

  Fireheart followed her into the den. The curtain of lichen swung back into place, cutting off the bright snow-light. In the dim interior, Bluestar sat facing him. “What is it?” she asked.