by Erin Hunter
Graypool!
Fireheart opened his jaws to call out to her, and closed them again without making a sound. The old cat had crossed the bridge and was tottering along the very edge of the river. He was afraid that if she heard a strange cat calling to her, she would slip and fall to her death. Instead he began to make his way down the slope, creeping carefully under cover of the rocks in a hunting crouch so she would not see him and be startled.
After a few moments, he saw to his relief that Graypool had turned away from the river and was trying to climb the steep slope toward Fourtrees. Her claws scrabbled feebly on the boulders, and Fireheart wondered where she thought she was going. Did she imagine it was full moon and she was on her way to a Gathering?
Fireheart straightened up and opened his mouth once more to call to her, but again he bit back her name and slipped rapidly into the shelter of the nearest rock. Another cat had appeared, bounding confidently from the direction of Fourtrees. There was no mistaking that huge, muscular body and dark tabby coat.
It was Tigerstar!
CHAPTER 7
Fireheart peered out from behind his rock. Tigerstar had spotted Graypool and had changed direction toward her. As the dark tabby approached, Graypool reared back in surprise and fell, only to struggle back onto her paws and face Tigerstar. The ShadowClan leader padded up to her and meowed something, but Fireheart was too far away to make out the words.
Flattening his belly to the ground, he crept toward them, using all his hunting skills to stay undetected. Fortunately the wind was blowing toward him, so Tigerstar was unlikely to scent him. Fireheart was unwilling to meet the ShadowClan leader unless he had to. With any luck, Tigerstar was on his way to visit Leopardfur again and would help Graypool back to the RiverClan camp.
Fireheart prowled closer, flattening himself against the turf until he reached the shelter of another rock almost on a level with the other two cats. Graystripe had said that Tigerstar had visited RiverClan the day before. Why should he need to return so soon?
“Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” Fireheart hardly recognized the quavering voice as Graypool’s. “I know who you are, right enough. You’re Oakheart.”
Fireheart stiffened. Oakheart was the name of the cat who fathered Mistyfoot and Stonefur, and took them to RiverClan when Bluestar gave them up. He had been killed in battle just before Fireheart joined ThunderClan, but he had looked a little like Tigerstar—a big tom with a dark pelt.
With infinite caution, Fireheart raised his head to peer over the rock where he was sheltering. Graypool was crouched on a sparse patch of grass just above an outcrop of stones. She was looking up at Tigerstar, who loomed over her a couple of tail-lengths farther up the slope.
“I haven’t seen you for moons,” Graypool went on. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
Tigerstar stared down at her with narrowed eyes. Fireheart waited for him to tell the elderly she-cat that she had made a mistake. His blood ran cold when Tigerstar just meowed, “Oh…here and there.”
What in StarClan’s name is he playing at? Fireheart wondered.
“You might at least have come to see me,” Graypool complained. “Don’t you want to know how those kits are doing?”
The massive tom’s ears pricked up, and his amber eyes glowed with interest. “What kits?”
“What kits, he says!” Graypool broke into rusty laughter. “As if you didn’t know! The two ThunderClan kits that you asked me to take care of.”
Fireheart froze. Graypool had just given away Bluestar’s most deeply buried secret!
Tigerstar’s muscles tensed, and he gazed at Graypool more intently still, his interest clear in every line of his body. He thrust his head forward and meowed something so softly that Fireheart could not catch it.
“Seasons ago,” replied Graypool, sounding puzzled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. You…No, Oakheart wouldn’t need to ask that.” She staggered forward a couple of steps to peer more closely at Tigerstar.
“You’re not Oakheart!” she exclaimed.
“Never mind that,” Tigerstar mewed soothingly. “You can still tell me all about it. What ThunderClan kits? Who was their real mother?”
Fireheart was close enough to see the dazed look in Graypool’s eyes. She put her head on one side, gazing confusedly at the ShadowClan leader. “They were beautiful kits,” she meowed vaguely. “And now they’re fine warriors.”
She broke off as Tigerstar thrust his muzzle into her face. “Tell me whose kits they were, old crowfood,” he demanded, losing his patience.
Fireheart stared in horror as, flustered, Graypool took a step back. Her paws slid from under her. She rolled down the steep slope in a scramble of legs and tail, and landed hard against one of the rocks that poked out of the turf. There she lay, and did not move again.
Dismay and fury pulsed through Fireheart. As Tigerstar padded down to Graypool’s motionless body and sniffed it, he sprang to his paws and raced across the slope. But before Fireheart reached him the ShadowClan leader spun around, without seeing his former enemy, and bounded away in the direction of Fourtrees and his own territory.
Fireheart reached Graypool and gazed down at her. A trickle of blood came from her small gray head where it had struck the rock. Her eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. The she-cat was dead.
Fireheart lowered his head. “Good-bye, Graypool,” he mewed softly. “StarClan will honor you.”
He stood in silent grief, wishing he had known Graypool better. Her sharp tongue and noble heart reminded him of Yellowfang, and he would never stop feeling grateful to the RiverClan queen for sharing her deepest secret with him, even though he came from another Clan.
His sad reverie was interrupted by the voices of two cats, and he looked up to see Mistyfoot and Graystripe racing toward him from the river. Mistyfoot let out a desperate wail when she saw the dead elder and flung herself down on the turf to press her nose against Graypool’s side.
“What happened?” asked Graystripe.
In an instant, Fireheart decided to keep quiet about Tigerstar. Any mention of the ShadowClan leader would risk exposing the truth about Bluestar’s kits, and Fireheart knew Graypool would never want that, not even within her own Clan. He glanced at the still gray body and asked forgiveness from StarClan for the half-truth he was about to tell.
“I saw Graypool climbing the slope,” he replied. “She slipped, and I couldn’t reach her in time. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Fireheart.” Mistyfoot looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with sorrow. “I have been afraid for a while that something like this would happen.”
She bent her head to touch Graypool’s body again. Fireheart felt sympathy well up inside his chest. Graypool had taken Mistyfoot and Stonefur when Bluestar, their real mother, had given them up. Without Graypool they would have died. She had suckled them and reared them until they were ready to become apprentices. She was the only mother they had ever known, and no cat could have done more for them.
“Come on, Mistyfoot.” Graystripe gently nudged his friend. “Let’s take her back to camp.”
“I’ll help you,” Fireheart offered.
Mistyfoot sat up. “No,” she meowed. “You’ve done enough, Fireheart. Thank you, but this is for her own Clan to do.”
With great care she grasped Graypool’s scruff in her jaws. Graystripe took hold of the elder’s body, and together the two cats carried her down the slope toward the Twoleg bridge. Graypool’s limp form sagged between them, and her tail trailed in the dust.
When they reached the other side of the river, Fireheart turned away, back to his own territory and the ThunderClan camp. His thoughts were churning. Tigerstar had found out that two RiverClan warriors had come from ThunderClan! Fireheart had no idea what Tigerstar would do with this knowledge. But he knew, as sure as the sun would rise the next morning, that the ShadowClan leader would make some use of it, and he had a sinking feeling the outcome could be disastrous for Bluestar
and the whole of ThunderClan.
Fireheart stopped to hunt on the way home and arrived at the top of the ravine with a rabbit clamped firmly in his jaws. Looking down at the entrance to the camp, he saw that Goldenflower had brought her kits out into the bottom of the ravine; the two of them were chasing each other among the rocks, pretending to attack Brightpaw, who flicked her tail at them and frisked about just out of their reach. As Fireheart padded down the ravine and dropped the rabbit to watch for a moment, Bramblekit bounded up to him and laid a mouse at his paws.
“Look, Fireheart!” he meowed triumphantly. “I caught it all by myself!”
“His first prey,” Goldenflower added with a fond look at her son.
Bramblekit’s amber eyes blazed with excitement. “Mother says I’ll be just as good a hunter as my father,” he told Fireheart.
Fireheart felt an unpleasant jolt in his belly. His eyes narrowed, and he gave Goldenflower a sharp glance. Goldenflower kept her eyes fixed on her son, but Fireheart could tell from her twitching tail tip that she knew he was watching her.
“Fireheart?” Bramblekit was looking puzzled. “May I give my mouse to the elders?”
Fireheart shook himself angrily. The kit had done very well to catch a mouse when he was still so young, and he deserved a bit of praise. Yet Fireheart couldn’t help remembering Tigerstar bending over Graypool’s limp body, and he had a hard struggle not to vent his fury on the innocent Bramblekit.
“Yes, of course,” he mewed. “And well done for catching it. See if One-eye would like it. She might think it’s worth a story.”
Bramblekit’s eyes lit up. “Good idea!” he yowled. He snatched up the mouse and tore down the ravine to the camp entrance. His sister, Tawnykit, scampered after him.
Goldenflower was looking fiercely at Fireheart, and he knew that she saw very clearly how forced his praise had been. Frostily she mewed, “I told you before, Fireheart, I won’t tell the kits anything bad about their father. We’re loyal to the Clan—all of us.”
She spun around, switching her tail across Fireheart’s face as she did so, and stalked back to the camp.
Fireheart retrieved his rabbit and followed, deciding that he would take his prey to Cinderpelt and talk to her about Bramblekit at the same time. She might have some ideas about how best to handle the kit. The gray she-cat had limped back into the camp very late the night after the medicine-cat gathering at Highstones; Fireheart knew that she had been exhausted, but it had seemed that the light of the Moonstone still glimmered in her eyes.
As Fireheart pushed his way into the clearing through the newly growing gorse tunnel, he saw that Cinderpelt was sitting with Speckletail outside the nursery. The medicine cat was watching Snowkit, who patted at something on the ground a few tail-lengths from his mother.
Good, Fireheart thought. Now we should be able to find out if there’s something wrong with Snowkit. He padded over to the two she-cats and dropped the rabbit beside Cinderpelt. “That’s for you,” he meowed. “How do you feel after your journey?”
Cinderpelt turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were tranquil. “I’m fine,” she purred. “Thanks for the rabbit. Speckletail and I were just having a chat about Snowkit.”
“There’s nothing to chat about,” Speckletail muttered, hunching her shoulders. She sounded cranky, but there was a new sense of authority about Cinderpelt, and Fireheart guessed that the older she-cat hadn’t dared to refuse outright to talk to her.
Cinderpelt dipped her head. “Just call him to you, would you?” she asked.
Speckletail snorted and called out, “Snowkit! Snowkit, come here!”
She beckoned with her tail as she spoke. Snowkit got up, abandoning the ball of moss he had been playing with, and padded over to his mother. Speckletail bent down and gave his ear a lick.
“Good,” meowed Cinderpelt. “Now, Fireheart, go over there and call him to you, will you?” She nodded toward a spot a few fox-lengths away. In a lower voice she added, “Don’t move. Just use your voice.”
Puzzled, Fireheart did as she asked. This time, although Snowkit was looking straight at him, he didn’t move. There was no response from him at all, even when Fireheart called three or four times.
A few other cats paused on their way to the pile of fresh-kill and came to see what was going on. Bluestar—roused by the sound of voices, Fireheart guessed—emerged from her den and sat watching near the base of the Highrock. Dappletail, who was strolling back to the elders’ den, stopped beside Speckletail and said something to her. Speckletail spat an irritated reply, but Fireheart was too far away to hear what the two cats had said to each other. Dappletail ignored Speckletail’s snappishness and sat down next to Cinderpelt to watch closely.
Fireheart kept on calling Snowkit until Speckletail gave the kit a nudge, nodding in his direction, and the kit came bounding across.
“Well done,” Fireheart meowed, and repeated his praise when Snowkit looked at him blankly.
After a pause the kit mewed, “S’all right,” but the words sounded so distorted that Fireheart could hardly understand him.
He led Snowkit back to his mother and Cinderpelt. By now he was beginning to suspect what the trouble was, and he felt no surprise when Cinderpelt turned to Speckletail and meowed, “I’m sorry, Speckletail—Snowkit is deaf.”
Speckletail worked her paws on the ground in front of her. Her expression was a mixture of grief and anger. “I know he’s deaf!” she snapped at last. “I’m his mother. Do you think I wouldn’t know?”
“White cats with blue eyes are often deaf,” Dappletail mewed to Fireheart. “I remember one of my first litter…” She sighed.
“What happened to him?” Fireheart asked, relieved that Cloudpaw, who was also white with blue eyes, had good hearing.
“No cat knows,” Dappletail told him sadly. “He disappeared when he was three moons old. We thought a fox must have gotten him.”
Speckletail gathered Snowkit closer to her, fiercely protective. “Well, a fox won’t get this one!” she vowed. “I can look after him.”
“I’m sure you can,” Bluestar mewed, padding over to them. “But I’m afraid he can never be a warrior.”
This was one of Bluestar’s good days, Fireheart realized. Her voice was sympathetic but determined, and her eyes were clear.
“Why can’t he be a warrior?” Speckletail demanded. “There’s nothing else wrong with him. He’s a good, strong kit. He gets on just fine if you signal what he’s got to do.”
“That’s not enough,” Bluestar told her. “A mentor couldn’t teach him to fight or hunt by signals. He couldn’t hear commands in a battle, and how could he catch prey if he can’t listen, or hear the sound of his own pawsteps?”
Speckletail leaped to her paws with her fur bristling, and for a few moments Fireheart thought she might spring at Bluestar. Then she whipped around, nudged Snowkit to his paws, and vanished with him inside the nursery.
“She’s taking it badly,” Dappletail remarked.
“How do you expect her to take it?” asked Cinderpelt. “She’s getting old. This could well be her last kit, and now she learns he can’t ever be a warrior.”
“Cinderpelt, you must talk to her,” Bluestar ordered. “Make her see that the needs of the Clan must come first.”
“Yes, of course, Bluestar,” Cinderpelt mewed, with a respectful nod to her leader. “But I think it’s best for her to have a little time alone with Snowkit first, to let her get used to the idea that the rest of the Clan knows about his deafness.”
Bluestar grunted agreement and padded back toward her den. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Not long ago Bluestar would have talked to Speckletail herself, and perhaps considered some options about Snowkit’s future in the Clan. Where had that compassion and understanding gone? Fireheart wondered. His fur prickled as he realized that his leader hardly seemed to care about the deaf kit or his mother.
CHAPTER 8
The sun was rising over the trees a
s Fireheart and his patrol approached Snakerocks, on the opposite side of the territory to the river. The fire had not reached this far; the undergrowth was still lush and green, though leaves had begun to fall.
“Hold on,” Fireheart meowed to Thornpaw as the apprentice dashed toward the rocks. “Don’t forget there are adders around here.”
Thornpaw skidded to a halt. “Sorry, Fireheart.”
Since Bluestar had refused to make them warriors, Fireheart had made a point of spending time with all the apprentices in turn, including at least one of them in every patrol, in an attempt to show them that the Clan still valued them. Swiftpaw’s scowl suggested that he was resentful of the delay, but Thornpaw did not seem to mind waiting for full warrior status.
Mousefur, Thornpaw’s mentor, padded up to him. “Tell me what you can smell.”
Thornpaw stood with his head raised and jaws parted, drinking in the air. “Mouse!” he mewed almost at once, swiping his tongue around his mouth.
“Yes, but we’re not hunting now,” Mousefur reminded him. “What else?”
“The Thunderpath—over there.” Thornpaw gestured with his tail. “And dog.”
Fireheart, who had been lapping water from a hollow in the ground, pricked up his ears. Tasting the air, he realized that Thornpaw was right. There was a strong scent of dog, and it was fresh.
“That’s odd,” he commented. “Unless the Twolegs were up very early, that scent should be stale. Last night at the latest.”
He remembered Whitestorm’s report of finding trampled undergrowth and scattered pigeon feathers near Snakerocks. The place had smelled of dog then, but that scent would not have survived for this long.
“We’d better take a good look around,” he meowed.
Ordering Thornpaw not to leave his mentor, Fireheart sent the other cats into the trees while he crept closer to the rocks. Before he reached them, he was called back by Mousefur.