Forest of Secrets

by Erin Hunter

  Fireheart took a deep breath. “You remember the story that Ravenpaw told, that Redtail killed Oakheart at the battle of the Sunningrocks?”

  Bluestar stiffened. “Fireheart, that is over,” she growled. “I told you before, I have reasons enough to be satisfied that this isn’t true.”

  “I know.” Fireheart bowed his head respectfully. “But I’ve found out something new.”

  Bluestar waited in silence. Fireheart couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No cat killed Oakheart—not Redtail, not Tigerclaw,” he went on, nervously aware that it was too late now to change his mind. “Oakheart died when a rock collapsed on top of him.”

  Bluestar frowned. “How do you know this?”

  “I…I went to see Ravenpaw again,” Fireheart admitted. “After the last Gathering.” He was ready for anger as he made his confession, but the Clan leader remained calm.

  “So that’s why you were late,” she observed.

  “I had to find out the truth,” Fireheart meowed quickly. “And I—”

  “Wait a moment,” Bluestar interrupted. “Ravenpaw told you at first that Redtail killed Oakheart. Is he changing his story now?”

  “No, not at all,” Fireheart promised. “I misunderstood him. Redtail was partly responsible for Oakheart’s death, because he drove him under the overhanging rock that collapsed on top of him. But he didn’t mean to kill him. And that’s what you couldn’t believe,” he reminded Bluestar. “That Redtail would deliberately kill another cat. Besides…”

  “Well?” Bluestar sounded as calm as ever.

  “I went across the river and spoke to a RiverClan cat,” Fireheart confessed. “Just to be sure. She told me that it’s true: Oakheart died from the rockfall.” He looked at his paws, bracing himself for Bluestar’s fury that he had been trespassing on enemy territory, but when he looked up again, there was nothing in the leader’s eyes except for intense interest.

  She gave him a slight nod, and Fireheart went on. “So we know for a fact that Tigerclaw was lying about how Oakheart died—he didn’t kill him himself, in revenge for Redtail. The rockfall killed him. Isn’t it possible that he is lying about Redtail’s death as well?”

  As he spoke, Bluestar began to look troubled, narrowing her eyes so that only the faintest sliver of blue showed in the dim light of the den. She let out a long sigh. “Tigerclaw is a fine deputy,” she murmured. “And these are serious charges.”

  “I know,” Fireheart agreed quietly. “But can’t you see, Bluestar, how dangerous he is?”

  Bluestar sank her head onto her chest. She was silent for so long that Fireheart wondered if he should leave, but she had not dismissed him.

  “There’s something else,” he ventured. “Something strange about two of the RiverClan warriors.”

  Bluestar looked up at that; her ears flicked forward. For a heartbeat Fireheart hesitated to spread the rumors of a temperamental RiverClan elder, but his need to know the truth gave him the courage to go on. “Ravenpaw told me that in the Sunningrocks battle Oakheart stopped Redtail from attacking a warrior named Stonefur. Oakheart said that no ThunderClan cat should ever harm Stonefur. I…I had the chance to speak to one of the RiverClan elders. She told me that Oakheart brought Mistyfoot and Stonefur to her when they were tiny kits. It was leaf-bare, and she said that the kits would have died with no one to take care of them. Graypool—the elder—suckled them. She said that…that they had the scent of ThunderClan kits. Could that be true? Were kits ever stolen from our camp?”

  For a few heartbeats he thought Bluestar had not heard him, she was so still. Then she rose to her paws and padded forward a couple of paces until she stood almost nose to nose with him. “And you listened to this nonsense?” she hissed.

  “I just thought I should—”

  “This isn’t what I expect from you, Fireheart,” Bluestar growled. Her eyes glittered like ice, and her hackles were raised. “To go into enemy territory and listen to idle gossip? To believe what a RiverClan cat tells you? You would do better to think about your own duties than to come here telling tales about Tigerclaw.” She studied him for a long moment. “Maybe Tigerclaw is right to doubt your loyalty.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Fireheart stammered. “But I thought Graypool was telling the truth.”

  Bluestar let out a long breath. All the interest she had shown before had vanished, leaving her expression cold and remote. “Go,” she ordered. “Find yourself something useful to do—something that befits a warrior. And never—never—mention this to me again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart began backing out of the den. “But what about Tigerclaw? He—”

  “Go!” Bluestar spat the command.

  Fireheart’s paws scrabbled in the sand in his haste to obey. Once out of the den he turned and hurtled across the clearing, only coming to rest when he had put several fox-lengths between himself and Bluestar. He felt utterly bewildered. At first Bluestar had seemed prepared to listen to him, but as soon as he mentioned the stolen ThunderClan kits, she had refused to hear any more.

  A sudden chill swept through Fireheart. What if Bluestar began to wonder how he had managed to speak with the RiverClan cats? What if she found out about Graystripe and Silverstream? And what about Tigerclaw? For a short time, Fireheart had let himself hope that he could make Bluestar understand how dangerous the deputy was.

  Thistles and thorns, he thought. Now she won’t hear another word against Tigerclaw. I blew it!

  CHAPTER 7

  Confused and unhappy, Fireheart made for the warriors’ den. Before he reached it he hesitated. He did not want to risk meeting Tigerclaw, and he wasn’t in the mood for sharing tongues with his friends.

  Instead, almost unconsciously, he headed for the tunnel of ferns that led to Yellowfang’s den. Cinderpaw limped out and almost collided with him. Fireheart fell back on his haunches with a thump, and Cinderpaw skidded to a halt, spraying him with snow.

  “Sorry, Fireheart,” she puffed. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Fireheart shook the snow off his coat. His heart felt suddenly lighter at the sight of Cinderpaw, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and fur sticking out in all directions. This was how she used to look, when she was his apprentice; for a while, after the accident, Fireheart had been afraid that this Cinderpaw had vanished forever. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.

  “I’m going out to look for herbs for Yellowfang,” Cinderpaw explained. “So many cats have been ill, what with all this snow, that her stocks are getting very low. I want to find as much as I can before it gets dark.”

  “I’ll come and help you,” Fireheart offered. Bluestar had told him to do something useful, and not even Tigerclaw could find fault if he went to collect herbs for the medicine cat.

  “Great!” Cinderpaw meowed happily.

  Side by side, they headed across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to slow his pace to match Cinderpaw’s, but if she was aware of it she didn’t seem to mind.

  Just before they reached the tunnel, Fireheart heard the shrill voices of kits. He turned and stared at the branches of a fallen tree, close to the elders’ den. A group of kits had surrounded Brokentail, who had been given a nest among the branches.

  Ever since Bluestar had offered shelter to Brokentail, he had lived alone in his den, with warriors to guard him. Not many cats passed that way, and the kits had no reason to be anywhere near him.

  “Rogue! Traitor!” That was Cloudkit’s voice raised in a jeering meow. Fireheart watched in alarm as the white kit darted forward, jabbed Brokentail in the ribs with one paw, and scrambled back out of range. One of the other kits copied him, squealing, “Can’t catch me!”

  Darkstripe, whose turn it was to guard the blind cat, made no attempt to send the kits away. He sat a fox-length away, watching with his paws tucked under him and a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

  Brokentail swung his head from side to side in frustration, but with his cloudy, unseeing eyes he
could not retaliate. His dark tabby fur looked dull and patchy, and his broad face was scored with scars, some of them from the clawing that had ruined his eyes. There was no trace of the former arrogant and bloodthirsty leader now.

  Fireheart exchanged a worried glance with Cinderpaw. Many cats, he knew, thought Brokentail deserved to suffer, but seeing the former leader so old and helpless, he could not help feeling a scrap of pity. Anger began to burn inside him as the taunting went on. “Wait for me,” he mewed to Cinderpaw, and hurried over toward the edge of the clearing.

  He saw Cloudkit pounce on the blind tom’s tail, worrying it with needle-sharp teeth. Brokentail scrabbled away from him on unsteady legs and swiped one paw in his direction.

  In an instant, Darkstripe jumped to his paws, hissing, “Touch that kit, traitor, and I’ll flay your skin in strips!”

  Fireheart was too angry to speak. Leaping toward Cloudkit, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and swung him around, away from Brokentail.

  Cloudkit wailed in protest. “Stop it! That hurts!”

  Fireheart dropped him roughly into the snow and let out a low growl through bared teeth. “Go home!” he ordered the other kits. “Go home to your mothers. Now!”

  The kits stared at him, wide-eyed with fear, and then scuttled off, to disappear into the nursery.

  “As for you—” Fireheart hissed to Cloudkit.

  “Leave the kit alone,” Darkstripe interrupted, padding up to stand beside Cloudkit. “He’s not doing any harm.”

  “Keep out of this, Darkstripe,” growled Fireheart.

  Darkstripe shouldered past him, almost knocking him over, before stalking back to his prisoner. “Kittypet!” he sneered over his shoulder.

  Fireheart’s muscles tensed. He wanted to leap at Darkstripe and force the insult back down his throat, but he stopped himself. This was no time for Clan warriors to start fighting each other. Besides, he had to deal with Cloudkit.

  “Did you hear that?” he demanded, glaring down at the white kit. “Kittypet?”

  “So?” Cloudkit muttered mutinously. “What’s a kittypet?”

  Fireheart gulped as he realized that Cloudkit had not yet learned what his origins meant to the Clan. “Well, a kittypet is a cat who lives with Twolegs,” he began carefully. “Some Clan cats don’t believe that a cat who’s born a kittypet will ever make a good warrior. And that includes me, because like you, I was born in Twolegplace.”

  As Fireheart spoke, Cloudkit’s eyes grew wider and wider. “What do you mean?” he meowed. “I was born here!”

  Fireheart stared at him. “No, you weren’t,” he meowed. “Your mother is my sister, Princess. She lives in a Twoleg nest. She gave you to the Clan when you were very young, so you could be a warrior.”

  For a few moments Cloudkit stood rigid, as if he were a kit made of snow and ice. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” Fireheart meowed. “I…I thought you knew. I thought Brindleface would have told you.”

  Cloudkit backed away a couple of tail-lengths. The shock in his blue eyes was slowly replaced with cold understanding. “So that’s why the other cats hate me,” he spat. “They think I’ll never be any good because I wasn’t born in this dump of a forest. It’s stupid!”

  Fireheart struggled to find the right words to reassure him. He couldn’t help remembering how excited Princess had been when she gave her son to the Clan, and how he had promised her that Cloudkit would have a wonderful life ahead of him. Now he was forcing Cloudkit to think about his past, and the difficulties he would have before being accepted by the Clan. What if the kit began to think that Fireheart and Princess had made the wrong decision?

  Fireheart sighed. “It may be stupid, but that’s the way it is. I should know. Listen,” he explained patiently. “Warriors like Darkstripe think being a kittypet is something bad. It just means we have to work twice as hard to make them see that kittypet blood is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Cloudkit straightened up. “I don’t care!” he mewed. “I’m going to be the best warrior in the Clan. I’ll fight any cat who says I’m not. I’ll be brave enough to kill outlaws like old Brokentail.”

  Fireheart was relieved to see Cloudkit’s spirit overcoming the shock of his discovery. But he wasn’t sure that the kit really understood the meaning of the warrior code. “There’s more to being a warrior than killing,” he warned Cloudkit. “A true warrior—the best warrior—isn’t cruel or mean. He doesn’t claw an enemy who can’t fight back. Where’s the honor in that?”

  Cloudkit ducked his head, not meeting Fireheart’s eyes. Fireheart hoped he had said the right thing. Looking around for Cinderpaw, he saw that she had gone up to Brokentail and was checking his tail where Cloudkit had worried it. “There’s no damage,” she mewed to the blinded tom.

  Brokentail crouched motionless, his ruined eyes fixed on his paws, and did not respond. Reluctantly Fireheart went over and nudged the old cat to his paws. “Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s get you back to your den.”

  Brokentail turned in silence and let Fireheart guide him back to the leaf-lined hollow under the dead branches. Darkstripe watched them shuffle past with a contemptuous flick of his tail.

  “Right, Cinderpaw,” Fireheart meowed when Brokentail was settled. “Let’s go and find those herbs.”

  “Where are you going?” Cloudkit piped up, bouncing over to them with all his energy restored. “Can I come?”

  When Fireheart hesitated, Cinderpaw mewed, “Oh, let him come, Fireheart. He only gets into trouble because he’s bored. And we could do with some more help.”

  Cloudkit’s eyes gleamed with pleasure, and a loud purr rose from his throat, an enormous sound to come from his small, fluffy body.

  Fireheart shrugged. “All right. But put one paw wrong, and you’ll be back in the nursery before you can say ‘mouse’!”

  Limping steadily, Cinderpaw led the way along the ravine to the hollow where the apprentices had their training sessions. Already the sun was beginning to go down, casting long blue shadows across the snow. Cloudkit scampered ahead of them, peering into holes in the rock and stalking imaginary prey.

  “How can you find herbs with snow on the ground?” Fireheart asked. “Won’t everything be frozen?”

  “There’ll still be berries,” Cinderpaw pointed out. “Yellowfang told me to look for juniper—that’s good for coughs and bellyaches—and broom to make poultices for broken legs and wounds. Oh, and alder bark for toothache.”

  “Berries!” Cloudkit skittered sideways toward them. “I’ll find lots for you!” He dashed away again in the direction of a clump of bushes growing up the side of the hollow.

  Cinderpaw flicked her tail in amusement. “He’s keen,” she remarked. “Once he’s apprenticed, he’ll learn quickly.”

  Fireheart made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Cloudkit’s energy reminded him of Cinderpaw when she was first made apprentice. Except Cinderpaw would never have taunted a helpless cat like blind Brokentail.

  “Well, if he’s my apprentice, he’d better start listening to me,” he muttered.

  “Oh, yes?” Cinderpaw gave Fireheart a teasing look. “You’re a really tough mentor—all your apprentices will be trembling in their fur!”

  Fireheart met her laughing eyes and felt himself relaxing. As usual, being with Cinderpaw was lifting his spirits. He would stop worrying about Cloudkit and get on with the job they had come to do.

  “Cinderpaw!” Cloudkit called from farther along the hollow. “There are berries here—come and look!”

  Fireheart craned his neck and saw the white kit crouching beneath a small, dark-leaved bush that pushed its way up between two rocks. Bright scarlet berries grew close to the stems.

  “They look tasty,” Cloudkit mewed as the two cats drew nearer. He stretched his jaws wide to take a hungry mouthful.

  At the same moment a gasp came from Cinderpaw. To Fireheart’s amazement she shot forward, propelling herself over the snow as
fast as her injured leg would allow. “No, Cloudkit!” she yowled.

  She barreled into the kit, bowling him over. Cloudkit squealed in shock and the two cats scuffled together on the ground. Fireheart bounded over, anxious that Cloudkit might hurt the injured Cinderpaw, but as he reached them she pushed the kit off her and sat up, panting. “Did you touch one?” she demanded.

  “N-No,” Cloudkit stammered, puzzled. “I was only—”

  “Look.” Cinderpaw shoved him around until his nose was a mouse-length from the bush. Fireheart had never heard her sound so fierce. “Look but don’t touch. That’s yew. The berries are so poisonous they are called deathberries. Even one could kill you.”

  Cloudkit’s eyes were round as the full moon. Speechless for once, he gazed, horrified, at Cinderpaw.

  “All right,” she mewed more gently, giving his shoulder a couple of comforting licks. “It didn’t happen this time. But take a good look now, so you don’t make that mistake again. And never—do you hear me, never—eat anything if you don’t know what it is.”

  “Yes, Cinderpaw,” Cloudkit promised.

  “Go on looking for berries, then.” Cinderpaw nudged the kit to his paws. “And call me as soon as you find anything.”

  Cloudkit padded off, glancing back over his shoulder once or twice as he went. Fireheart couldn’t remember seeing him so subdued. Bold as the kit was, he had received a real shock. “It’s a good thing you were here, Cinderpaw,” he meowed, feeling a pang of guilt that he hadn’t known enough to warn Cloudkit. “You’ve learned such a lot from Yellowfang.”

  “She’s a good teacher,” Cinderpaw replied. She shook several clumps of snow off her fur and began padding up the hollow after Cloudkit. Fireheart walked beside her, once more slowing his pace to match hers.

  This time Cinderpaw noticed. “You know, my leg has healed as much as it ever will,” she meowed quietly. “I’ll be sorry to leave Yellowfang’s den, but I can’t stay there forever.” She turned to look at Fireheart. All the mischief had faded from her eyes; instead, there was pain and uncertainty in the blue depths. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”