Forest of Secrets

by Erin Hunter

  At the far end the trunk divided into a tangle of broken branches. Fireheart ducked down to squeeze through them, being careful not to let the kit’s fur catch on the splinters. It was harder to find a pawhold as the branches tapered, and he ran out of anything that might bear his weight when there was still a gap of a couple of fox-lengths separating him from the far side of the river. Fireheart took a deep breath, flexed his hindlegs, and leaped. His front paws hit the bank while his hind paws kicked madly in the rushing current. As water splashed up, the kit started to struggle again. Fireheart kept his teeth clenched in its neck fur as he sank his front claws into the soft earth and scrabbled upward until he stood safely on the bank. He lurched forward a few paces and set the kit down gently.

  Glancing around, he saw Graystripe pulling himself out of the water a little way downstream. He lowered the gray kit to the ground and shook himself. “The river water tastes foul,” he spat.

  “Look on the bright side,” Fireheart suggested. “At least it should disguise your scent. The RiverClan cats won’t know that you’re the warrior who’s been trespassing on their territory. If they ever found out—”

  He broke off as three cats crashed out of the bushes just beyond Graystripe. Fireheart braced himself as he recognized Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, and the warriors Blackclaw and Stonefur. Forcing his tired legs to move, he picked up the black kit and padded along the bank to stand beside Graystripe. The gray warrior hauled himself to his paws, and the two cats set down their burdens and faced their enemies together.

  Fireheart wondered if the RiverClan cats had overheard what he was saying to Graystripe. He knew that he and Graystripe were too exhausted to stand up to a patrol of strong, fresh warriors, and his head spun as he tried to summon enough energy for a fight into his frozen paws. But to his relief, the RiverClan cats halted a few tail-lengths away.

  “What’s this?” growled Leopardfur. Her golden-spotted fur bristled, and her ears were flattened against her head.

  Beside her, Blackclaw stood with his lips drawn back in a snarl. “Why are you trespassing on our territory?” he demanded.

  “We’re not trespassing,” Fireheart meowed quietly. “We pulled two of your kits out of the river and wanted to bring them home.”

  “Do you think we nearly drowned ourselves just for fun?” Graystripe blurted out.

  Stonefur paced forward until he was close enough to sniff the two kits. “It’s true!” His blue eyes widened. “They’re Mistyfoot’s missing kits!”

  Fireheart stiffened in amazement. He knew that Mistyfoot had recently had kits, but hadn’t realized that the kits they had rescued were hers. He was even more thankful now that they had been able to save the kits’ lives, but he knew they mustn’t let any of these cats know that Mistyfoot had friends in ThunderClan.

  Leopardfur did not relax the fur on her shoulders. “How do we know you saved the kits?” she snarled. “You might have been trying to steal them.”

  Fireheart stared at her. After risking their lives in the floodwater, he couldn’t believe that they were actually being accused of stealing the kits. “Don’t be such a mouse-brain!” he spat. “No cat from ThunderClan tried to steal your kits when we could walk across the river on the ice. Why do you think we’d try it now? We nearly drowned!”

  Leopardfur looked thoughtful, but Blackclaw stalked up and thrust his head aggressively into Fireheart’s face. Fireheart snarled, ready to counter a blow.

  “Blackclaw!” Leopardfur meowed sharply. “Back off! We’ll let these cats explain themselves to Crookedstar, and see if he believes them.”

  Fireheart opened his mouth to protest, but left the words unspoken. They would have to go with the RiverClan cats; in their exhausted state he and Graystripe had no hope of winning a fight. At least Graystripe would be able to check on Silverstream. “All right,” Fireheart meowed. “I just hope your Clan leader can see the truth when it’s in front of his nose.”

  Leopardfur led the way along the bank, while Blackclaw picked up one kit and stalked threateningly alongside Fireheart and Graystripe. Stonefur brought up the rear, carrying the other kit.

  When they reached the island where the RiverClan cats had their camp, Fireheart saw that a wide channel of racing water separated it from the ridge of dry ground, wrenching at the overhanging boughs of the willow trees. No cats were visible through the reeds, and Fireheart could see silver water lapping among the bushes that concealed the camp.

  Leopardfur paused, her eyes widening with alarm. “The water has risen since we left camp,” she meowed.

  As she spoke, a yowl came from behind them at the top of the slope, where Fireheart and Graystripe had hidden to talk to Silverstream. “Leopardfur! Up here!”

  Fireheart turned to see the RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, emerging from the shelter of the bushes. His pale tabby coat was soaked, fur sticking out in all directions, and his twisted jaw made him look as if he were mocking the patrol and their prisoners.

  “What happened?” Leopardfur demanded as she reached her leader.

  “The camp is flooded,” Crookedstar replied. His voice was flat with defeat. “We’ve had to move up here.”

  As he spoke, two or three other cats emerged cautiously from the bushes. Fireheart noticed Graystripe brighten when he saw one of them was Silverstream.

  “And what have you brought us?” Crookedstar went on. He narrowed his eyes at Fireheart and Graystripe. “ThunderClan spies? As if we didn’t have enough trouble!”

  “They found Mistyfoot’s kits,” Leopardfur told him, nodding to Stonefur and Blackclaw to bring forward the kits. “They claim they pulled them out of the river.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it!” spat Blackclaw, setting down the kit he carried. “You can’t trust a ThunderClan cat.”

  At the mention of the kit, Silverstream had turned and disappeared rapidly under the bushes again. Crookedstar padded forward and sniffed the pathetic bundles. By now they had begun to recover from their ordeal and were trying to sit up, though they still looked completely waterlogged.

  “Mistyfoot’s kits went missing when the camp flooded,” Crookedstar remarked, turning his cold green gaze on Fireheart and Graystripe. “How do you come to have them?”

  Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe, exhaustion making him short-tempered. “We flew across the river,” he mewed sarcastically.

  A loud yowling interrupted him. Mistyfoot broke out of the bushes and came racing over to them. “My kits! Where are my kits?” She crouched over the tiny scraps of fur, staring wildly around as if she thought the other cats would try to take them away from her. Then she began licking them furiously, trying to comfort both of them at once. Stonefur pressed up close against her and mewed comfortingly into her ear.

  Silverstream followed more slowly and stood beside her father, Crookedstar, eyeing the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart was relieved to see her gaze pass with apparent indifference over Graystripe. She would not give them away, he was sure.

  More cats emerged after her and gathered curiously around. Fireheart recognized Graypool, who gave no sign that she had ever seen him before, and Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat, who crouched beside Mistyfoot to examine the kits.

  All of the RiverClan cats were wet through, and the fur clinging to their bodies showed they were skinnier than ever. Fireheart had always thought of RiverClan cats as plump and sleek, wellfed on fish from the river. That was until Silverstream told him that Twolegs had stayed by the river during greenleaf and stolen or scared away most of their prey. The Twolegs had left the forest now, during leaf-bare, but RiverClan had been unable to hunt when the river froze. And instead of bringing much-needed food, the thaw had driven them out of their camp completely.

  In spite of his pang of pity, Fireheart could also see the unfriendliness in their eyes, the hostility in their flattened ears and twitching tail tips. Fireheart knew he and Graystripe would have to work hard to convince Crookedstar that they had really sav
ed the kits.

  The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. “Tell us what happened,” Crookedstar ordered.

  Fireheart began at the point when he had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

  “Since when have ThunderClan cats risked their lives for us?” Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Fireheart described how he had pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

  Fireheart bit back an angry retort, and Crookedstar hissed at the warrior, “Quiet, Blackclaw! Let him speak. If he’s lying, we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “He’s not lying.” Mistyfoot looked up from where she was still nuzzling her kits. “Why should ThunderClan steal kits when all the Clans are finding it hard to feed themselves?”

  “Fireheart’s story makes sense,” Silverstream observed calmly. “We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again,” she explained to Fireheart. “When we came to move Mistyfoot’s kits, we could find only two of them. The other two were missing. The whole nursery floor had been washed away. They must have been swept along the river to where you found them.”

  Crookedstar nodded slowly, and Fireheart realized that the hostility of the RiverClan cats was fading—all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the ThunderClan warriors with a snort of disgust.

  “In that case, we’re grateful to you,” meowed Crookedstar, though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to a pair of ThunderClan cats.

  “Yes,” mewed Mistyfoot. She looked up again, her eyes glowing softly with gratitude. “Without you, my kits would have died.”

  Fireheart dipped his head in acknowledgment. Impulsively, he asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? If you can’t go back to your camp, and if prey’s scarce because of the flood—”

  “We need no help from ThunderClan,” growled Crookedstar. “RiverClan cats can look after themselves.”

  “Don’t be such a fool.” It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Fireheart felt a new surge of respect for her; he guessed that not many cats would dare to take that tone with Crookedstar. “You’re too proud for your own good,” the elder rasped. “How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? There are no fish to eat. The river’s practically poisoned; you know it is.”

  “What?” Graystripe exclaimed; Fireheart was too shocked to say anything.

  “It’s all the fault of the Twolegs,” Graypool explained to them. “Last newleaf, the river was clean and full of fish. Now it’s filthy with Twoleg rubbish from their camp.”

  “And the fish are poisoned,” Mudfur added. “Cats who eat them fall ill. I’ve treated more cats for bellyache this leaf-bare than in all the time since I’ve been the medicine cat.”

  Fireheart stared at Graystripe, and then back at the hungry RiverClan cats. Most of them couldn’t meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another Clan should know about their troubles. “Then let us help,” he urged them all. “We’ll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean.”

  Even as he made the offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own Clan alone. Bluestar would be furious with him if she found out he was prepared to share ThunderClan’s precious prey like this. But Fireheart couldn’t bring himself to abandon another Clan in their need. Bluestar herself said our welfare depends on having four Clans in the forest, he reminded himself. Surely it’s the will of StarClan.

  “Would you really do this for us?” asked Crookedstar slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “Yes,” Fireheart meowed.

  “And I’ll help too,” promised Graystripe, with a glance at Silverstream.

  “Then the Clan thanks you,” grunted Crookedstar. “None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for ourselves again.” He turned and led the way back to the bushes. His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Fireheart and Graystripe as they went. Not all of them, Fireheart could see, trusted them or believed in their offer of help.

  Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging her kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope. “Thank you both,” she murmured. “I won’t forget this.”

  Fireheart and Graystripe were left alone as the RiverClan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slope again toward the river, Graystripe shook his head in disbelief. “Hunting for another Clan? We must be mad.”

  “What else could we do?” Fireheart retorted. “Let them starve?”

  “No! But we’ll have to be careful. We’ll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out.”

  Or Tigerclaw, Fireheart added silently. He already suspects Graystripe and I have friends in RiverClan. And we could be about to prove him right.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was a cold, gray morning. Fireheart dragged himself reluctantly out of his warm nest, and padded over to nudge Graystripe.

  “Wha…?” Graystripe twitched and settled down again with his tail wrapped over his nose. “Go away, Fireheart.”

  Fireheart lowered his head and butted the broad gray shoulder. “Come on, Graystripe,” he whispered into his friend’s ear. “We’ve got to hunt for RiverClan.”

  At that, Graystripe levered himself upright and parted his jaws in an enormous yawn. Fireheart felt just as tired as his friend; supplying RiverClan with fresh-kill as well as keeping up with their duties in ThunderClan was taking up all their time and energy. They had crossed the river with prey several times, and so far their luck had held. No ThunderClan cat had found out what they were doing.

  Stretching, Fireheart glanced cautiously around the den. Most of the warriors were curled among the moss, too sound asleep to ask awkward questions. Tigerclaw was just a mound of dark tabby fur in his nest.

  Fireheart slipped out between the branches of the den. At first he thought that all the other cats were asleep; then he saw Brindleface appear at the entrance to the nursery and lift her face to sniff the air. As if she didn’t like the raw, damp wind that greeted her, she retreated almost at once.

  Fireheart looked back at Graystripe, who was shaking scraps of moss off his coat. “Okay,” he meowed. “We can go now.”

  The two cats bounded across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Just as they reached it, a familiar voice behind them called out, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”

  Fireheart froze and turned around. Cloudkit was scampering toward him, yowling, “Fireheart! Wait for me!”

  “Fireheart,” growled Graystripe, “why does your kin always turn up at the most awkward moment?”

  “StarClan knows.” Fireheart sighed.

  “Where are you going?” Cloudkit panted excitedly as he skidded to a stop in front of the warriors. “Can I come with you?”

  “No,” Graystripe told him. “Only apprentices can go out with warriors.”

  Cloudkit shot Graystripe a look of dislike. “But I’ll be an apprentice soon. Won’t I, Fireheart?”

  “‘Soon’ isn’t ‘now,’” Fireheart reminded him, struggling to keep calm. If they hung around much longer, the whole Clan would be awake and wanting to know where they were going. “You can’t come this time, Cloudkit. We’re going out on a special warrior mission.”

  Cloudkit’s blue eyes grew round with wonder. “Is it a secret?”

  “Yes,” hissed Graystripe. “Especially from nosey kits.”

  “I wouldn’t tell any cat,” Cloudkit promised eagerly. “Fireheart, please let me come.”

  “No.” Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe. “Look, Cloudkit, go back to the nursery now, and maybe I’ll take you out later for some hunting practice. Okay?”

  “Okay…I suppose.” Cloudkit looked sulky, but he turned around and trailed off in the direction of the nursery.

  Fireheart watched him until he reached the en
trance, and then slipped into the mouth of the tunnel. Moments later he was racing up the ravine with Graystripe at his side.

  “I just hope Cloudkit doesn’t tell the whole Clan we went out early on a special mission,” puffed Graystripe.

  “We’ll worry about that later,” Fireheart panted.

  The two warriors headed for the stepping-stones. The fallen tree was still there to help them cross the river, and hunting close by meant they had less distance to carry the fresh-kill, and were less likely to be spotted.

  By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the daylight had grown stronger, but the sunrise was hidden behind a mass of gray cloud. There was a spatter of rain in the wind. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling that all sensible prey would be curled up in their holes. He raised his head and sniffed. The breeze carried the scent of squirrel, fresh and not far away. Cautiously he began to stalk through the trees. Soon he caught sight of his prey searching among the debris at the foot of an oak tree. As he watched, it sat up and began to nibble on an acorn held between its front paws.

  “If it knows we’re here,” Graystripe breathed in his ear, “it’ll be up that tree in a flash.”

  Fireheart nodded. “Circle around,” he murmured. “Come at it from that side.”

  Graystripe slid away from him, a silent gray shape in the shadows of the trees. Fireheart flattened himself into the hunter’s crouch with the ease of long practice, and began to creep up on the squirrel. He saw its ears prick, and its head swiveled around as if something had alarmed it; perhaps it had seen a flicker of movement from Graystripe, or caught his scent.

  While it was distracted, Fireheart hurled himself across the open ground. His claws pinned the squirrel to the forest floor, and Graystripe ran forward to finish the struggle.

  “Well done,” Fireheart grunted.

  Graystripe spat out a mouthful of fur. “It’s a bit old and stringy, but it’ll do.”

  The two warriors continued their hunt until they had killed a rabbit and a couple of mice. By then, although he could not see the sun, Fireheart knew it must be near sunhigh. “We’d better take this to RiverClan,” he meowed. “They’re bound to miss us back at the camp soon.”