by Erin Hunter
Firepaw listened politely to the end of the story, but a familiar scent was distracting him. As soon as Tigerclaw had finished speaking, Firepaw turned and crept away toward the sweet smell, which was coming from a group of cats nearby.
He found Graypaw sitting among these cats, but that was not the scent he had been following. Sitting opposite Graypaw, between two RiverClan toms, was Spottedleaf. Firepaw glanced at her shyly and settled himself beside his friend.
“Still no scent of WindClan,” he mewed to Graypaw.
“The meeting hasn’t begun yet; they may still come,” replied his friend. “Look, there’s Runningnose. He’s the new ShadowClan medicine cat, apparently.” He nodded toward a small gray-and-white cat at the center of the group.
“I can see why they call him Runningnose,” Firepaw remarked. The medicine cat’s nose was wet at the tip and encrusted around the edges.
“Yep,” replied Graypaw with a scornful growl. “I can’t see why they appointed him when he can’t even cure his own cold!”
Runningnose was telling the cats about a herb that medicine cats had used in the old days to cure kitten-cough. “Since the Twolegs came and filled the place with hard earth and strange flowers,” he complained in a high-pitched yowl, “the herb has disappeared, and kittens die needlessly in cold weather.”
The cats gathered around him yowled their disapproval.
“It never would have happened in the time of the great Clan cats,” growled a black RiverClan queen.
“Indeed,” mewled a silver tabby. “The great cats would have killed any Twolegs that dared enter their territory. If TigerClan roamed this forest still, Twolegs would not have built this far into our land.”
Then Firepaw heard Spottedleaf’s quiet mew. “If TigerClan still roamed these forests, we would hardly have made our territory here, either.”
“What’s TigerClan?” mewed a small voice beside them. Firepaw noticed a little tabby apprentice from one of the other Clans sitting beside him.
“TigerClan is one of the great cat Clans that used to roam the forest,” Graypaw explained quietly. “TigerClan is cats of the night, big as horses, with jet-black stripes. Then there is LionClan. They’re . . .” Graypaw hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember.
“Oh! I’ve heard of them,” mewed the tabby. “They were as big as TigerClan cats, with yellow fur and golden manes like rays of the sun.”
Graypaw nodded. “And then there is the other one, SpottyClan or something like that. . . . ”
“I suspect you’re thinking of LeopardClan, young Graypaw,” meowed a voice from behind them.
“Lionheart!” Graypaw greeted his mentor with an affectionate touch of his nose.
Lionheart shook his head in mock despair. “Don’t you youngsters know your history? LeopardClan are the swiftest cats, huge and golden, spotted with black pawprints. You can thank LeopardClan for the speed and hunting skills you now possess.”
“Thank them? Why?” asked the tabby.
Lionheart gazed down at the little apprentice and answered, “There is a trace of all the great cats in every cat today. We would not be night hunters without our TigerClan ancestors, and our love of the sun’s warmth comes from LionClan.” He paused. “You are a ShadowClan apprentice, aren’t you? How many moons are you?”
The tabby stared awkwardly down at the ground. “S-six moons,” he stammered, not meeting Lionheart’s eye.
“Rather small for six moons,” Lionheart murmured. His tone was gentle, but his gaze was searching and serious.
“My mother was small too,” answered the tabby nervously. He bowed his head and backed away, disappearing into the crowd of cats with a twitch of his light brown tail.
Lionheart turned to Firepaw and Graypaw. “Well, he might be small, but at least he was curious. If only you two showed as much interest in the stories your elders tell!”
“Sorry, Lionheart,” Firepaw and Graypaw mewed, exchanging doubtful glances.
Lionheart grunted good-naturedly. “Oh, go away, the pair of you! Next time I hope Bluestar decides to bring apprentices who appreciate what they hear.” And with a halfhearted growl he chased them away from the group.
“Come on,” purred Graypaw as they leaped away. “Let’s see where Ravenpaw’s gotten to.”
Ravenpaw was in the middle of a group of apprentices who were clamoring for him to tell them about the battle with RiverClan.
“Go on, Ravenpaw; tell us what happened!” called a pretty black-and-white she-cat.
Ravenpaw shyly shuffled his paws and shook his head.
“Come on, Ravenpaw!” insisted another.
Ravenpaw looked around and saw Firepaw and Graypaw at the edge of the crowd. Firepaw nodded encouragingly. Ravenpaw flicked his tail in acknowledgment and began his story.
He stumbled a bit at first, but as he continued, the tremor disappeared from his voice and his audience leaned in, their eyes growing wider.
“Fur was flying everywhere. Blood spattered the leaves of the bramble bushes, bright red against green. I’d just fought off a huge warrior and sent him squealing into the bushes when the ground shook, and I heard a warrior scream. It was Oakheart! Redtail raced past me, his mouth dripping blood and his fur torn. ‘Oakheart is dead!’ he howled. Then he rushed off to help Tigerclaw as he fought another warrior.”
“Who would have thought Ravenpaw was such a good story-teller,” Graypaw murmured to Firepaw, sounding impressed.
But Firepaw was thinking of something else. What was it Ravenpaw had said? That Redtail had killed Oakheart? But according to Tigerclaw, Oakheart had killed Redtail and he, Tigerclaw, had killed Oakheart in revenge.
“If Redtail killed Oakheart, who killed Redtail?” Firepaw hissed to Graypaw.
“If who did what?” Graypaw echoed absentmindedly. He was only half listening to Firepaw.
Firepaw shook his head to clear it. Ravenpaw must have been mistaken, he thought. He must have meant Tigerclaw.
Ravenpaw was coming to the end of his story. “Finally, Redtail dragged the wailing cat off Tigerclaw by his tail and, with the strength of the whole of TigerClan, flung him into the bushes.”
A moving shadow caught Firepaw’s eye. He glanced around and saw Tigerclaw standing a short distance away. The warrior was watching Ravenpaw with an iron stare. Unaware of his mentor’s presence, Ravenpaw continued to answer question after question from his enthusiastic audience.
“What were Oakheart’s dying words?”
“Is it true that Oakheart had never lost a battle before?”
Ravenpaw replied promptly, with his voice high and clear and his eyes shining. But when Firepaw glanced back at Tigerclaw, he saw a look of horror and then fury creep over the warrior’s face. Clearly Tigerclaw wasn’t enjoying Ravenpaw’s story at all.
Firepaw was just about to say something to Graypaw when a loud yowl signaled to all the cats for quiet. Firepaw couldn’t help feeling relieved as Ravenpaw fell silent at last, and Tigerclaw turned away.
Firepaw looked up to see where the yowl had come from. Three cats sat silhouetted against the moonlit sky on top of the Great Rock. They were Bluestar, Brokenstar, and Crookedstar.
The Clan leaders were about to begin the meeting. But where was the WindClan leader?
“Surely they won’t start the meeting without Tallstar?” Firepaw hissed under his breath.
“I don’t know,” Graypaw muttered back.
“Haven’t you noticed? There isn’t a single WindClan cat here,” whispered a RiverClan apprentice on the other side of Firepaw.
Firepaw guessed that similar conversations were going on all around him. As the other cats were gathering beneath the Great Rock, an unsettled murmuring rumbled in their throats.
“We can’t start yet,” yowled one voice above the noise. “Where are the WindClan representatives? We must wait until all the Clans are present.”
On top of the rock, Bluestar stepped forward. Her gray fur glowed almost white in the moonlight. “Ca
ts of all Clans, welcome,” she meowed in a clear voice. “It is true that WindClan is not present, but Brokenstar wishes to speak anyway.”
Brokenstar padded noiselessly up to stand beside Bluestar. He surveyed the crowd for a few moments, his orange eyes burning. Then he took a deep breath and began. “Friends, I come to speak to you tonight about the needs of ShadowClan—”
But he was interrupted by raised, impatient voices from below.
“Where is Tallstar?” cried one.
“Where are the WindClan warriors?” yowled another.
Brokenstar stretched up to his full height and lashed his tail from side to side. “As the leader of ShadowClan, it is my right to address you here!” he growled in a voice full of menace. The crowd fell into an uneasy silence. All around him, Firepaw could smell the acrid tang of fear.
Brokenstar yowled again. “We all know that the hard time of leaf-bare, and late newleaf, have left us with little prey in our hunting grounds. But we also know that WindClan, RiverClan, and ThunderClan lost many kits in the freezing weather that came so late this season. ShadowClan did not lose kits. We are hardened to the cold north wind. Our kits are stronger than yours from the moment they are born. And so we find ourselves with many mouths to feed, and too little prey to feed them.”
The crowd, still silent, listened anxiously.
“The needs of ShadowClan are simple. In order to survive, we must increase our hunting territory. That is why I insist that you allow ShadowClan warriors to hunt in your territories.”
A shocked but muted growl rippled through the crowd.
“Share our hunting grounds?” called the outraged voice of Tigerclaw.
“It is unprecedented!” cried a tortoiseshell queen from RiverClan. “The Clans have never shared hunting rights!”
“Should ShadowClan be punished because our kits thrive?” yowled Brokenstar from the Great Rock. “Do you want us to watch our young starve? You must share what you have with us.”
“Must!” spat Smallear furiously from the back of the crowd.
“Must,” repeated Brokenstar. “WindClan failed to understand this. In the end, we were forced to drive them out of their territory.”
Snarls of outrage burst from the crowd, but Brokenstar’s caterwaul rang loud above them: “And, if we have to, we will drive you all from your hunting grounds in order to feed our hungry kits.”
There was instant silence. On the other side of the clearing, Firepaw heard a RiverClan apprentice start to mutter something, but he was quickly hushed by an elder.
Satisfied that he had every cat’s attention, Brokenstar continued. “Each year, the Twolegs spoil more of our territory. At least one Clan must remain strong, if all the Clans are to survive. ShadowClan thrives while you all struggle. And there may come a time when you will need us to protect you.”
“You doubt our strength?” hissed Tigerclaw. His pale eyes glared threateningly at the ShadowClan leader, and his powerful shoulders rippled with tension.
“I do not ask for your answer now.” Brokenstar ignored the warrior’s challenge. “You must each go away and consider my words. But bear this in mind: Would you prefer to share your prey, or be driven out and left homeless and starving?”
Warriors, elders, and apprentices looked at one another in disbelief. In the anxious pause that followed, Crookedstar stepped forward. “I have already agreed to allow ShadowClan some hunting rights in the river that runs through our territory,” he meowed quietly, gazing down on his Clan.
Horror and humiliation rippled through the RiverClan cats at their leader’s words.
“We were not consulted!” cried a grizzled silver tabby.
“I feel that this is best for our Clan. For all the Clans,” Crookedstar explained, his voice heavy with resignation. “There are plenty of fish in the river. It is better to share our prey than to spill blood fighting over it.”
“And what of ThunderClan?” Smallear croaked. “Bluestar? Have you, too, agreed to this outrageous demand?”
Bluestar unwaveringly met the old cat’s gaze. “I have made no agreement with Brokenstar except that I shall discuss his proposal with my Clan after the Gathering.”
“Well, at least that’s something,” muttered Graypaw in Firepaw’s ear. “We’ll show them we’re not as soft as that yellow-bellied RiverClan.”
Brokenstar spoke up again, his rasping voice sounding arrogant and strong after Crookedstar’s surrender. “I also bring news that is important to the safety of your kits. A ShadowClan cat has turned rogue and spurned the warrior code. We chased her out of our camp, but we do not know where she is now. She looks like a mangy old creature, but she has a bite like TigerClan.”
Firepaw’s fur bristled. Could Brokenstar possibly be talking about Yellowfang? He pricked up his ears, curious to hear more.
“She is dangerous. I warn you—do not offer shelter to her. And”—Brokenstar paused dramatically—“until she is caught and killed, I urge you to keep a close eye on your kits.”
Firepaw knew from the nervous growl that rumbled in the throats of the ThunderClan cats that they, too, had thought of Yellowfang. The bold she-cat had done nothing to endear herself to her reluctant hosts, and Firepaw guessed it wouldn’t take much to drum up hatred against her—even the words of a despised enemy like Brokenstar would be enough.
The ShadowClan warriors began to push their way out of the throng of cats. Brokenstar leaped down from the rock, and his warriors immediately surrounded him and escorted him away from Fourtrees, back into ShadowClan territory. The remaining ShadowClan cats followed quickly behind, including the undersize tabby Lionheart had questioned earlier. But among the other ShadowClan apprentices, the tabby no longer looked unusually small—they all looked tiny and undernourished, more like kits of three or four moons than full-fledged apprentices.
“What do you think of all that?” Graypaw mewed in a low voice.
Ravenpaw bounded over before Firepaw could reply. “What’s going to happen now?” he wailed, his fur fluffed up in alarm and his eyes wider than ever.
Firepaw didn’t answer. The elders of ThunderClan were gathering nearby, and he was straining to hear what they were saying.
“That must be Yellowfang he was talking about,” growled Smallear.
“Well, she did snap at Goldenflower’s youngest kit the other day,” murmured Speckletail darkly. She was the oldest nursery queen, and fiercely protective of all the kits.
“And we’ve left her behind, with the camp virtually unguarded!” wailed One-eye, who for once seemed to be having no trouble hearing everything.
“I tried to tell you she was a danger to us,” hissed Darkstripe. “Bluestar has to listen to reason now and get rid of her before she harms any of our young!”
Tigerclaw strode up to the group. “We must return to camp at once and deal with this rogue!” he yowled.
Firepaw didn’t stop to hear more. His mind was spinning. Loyal as he was to his Clan, he just couldn’t believe that Yellowfang would be a danger to kits. Frightened for the old she-cat, burning with questions only she could answer, he raced away from Graypaw and Ravenpaw without a word.
He charged up the hillside and pelted through the forest. Had he been mistaken about Yellowfang? If he warned her about the danger she was in, would he be risking his own position in ThunderClan? Whatever trouble he got himself into, he had to find out the truth from her before the other cats got back to the camp.
CHAPTER 13
Firepaw reached the edge of the ravine and looked down at the camp. He was panting and his paws were slippery with dew. He sniffed the air. He was alone. There was still time to speak to Yellowfang before the others returned from the Gathering. Silently, he jumped down the rocky slope and slipped through the gorse tunnel unnoticed.
The camp was still and quiet, apart from the muted snuffles of sleeping cats. Firepaw quickly crept around the edge of the clearing to Yellowfang’s nest. The old medicine cat was curled on top of her mossy bedding.
“Yellowfang,” he hissed urgently. “Yellowfang! Wake up; it’s important!”
Two orange eyes opened and glinted in the moonlight. “I wasn’t sleeping,” meowed Yellowfang quietly. She sounded calm and alert. “You came straight from the Gathering to me? That must mean you’ve heard.” She blinked slowly and looked away. “So Brokenstar kept his promise.”
“What promise?” Firepaw felt very confused. Yellowfang seemed to know more than he did about what was going on.
“ShadowClan’s noble leader promised to drive me from every Clan territory,” Yellowfang replied dryly. “What did he say about me?”
“He warned us that our kits were in danger as long as we sheltered the ShadowClan rogue. He didn’t say your name, but ThunderClan guessed who he was talking about. You must leave before the others get back. You are in danger!”
“You mean they believed Brokenstar?” Yellowfang flattened her ears and swished her tail angrily.
“Yes!” Firepaw meowed urgently. “Darkstripe says you’re dangerous. The other cats are scared of what you might do. Tigerclaw is planning to come back and . . . I don’t know. . . . I think you should go before they get here!”
In the distance Firepaw could hear the yowls of angry cats. Yellowfang struggled stiffly to her paws. Firepaw gave her a nudge to help her up, his mind still spinning with questions. “What did Brokenstar mean when he warned us to keep a close eye on our kits?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Would you really do something like that?”
“Would I what?”
“Would you harm our kits?”
Yellowfang flared her nostrils and looked steadily at him. “Do you think so?”
Firepaw met her gaze without flinching. “No. I don’t believe you would ever harm a kit. But why would Brokenstar say such a thing?”
The noise of the cats was coming nearer, and with it, the scents of aggression and anger. Yellowfang looked wildly from side to side.
“Go!” Firepaw urged. Her safety was more important than his curiosity.