Bluestar's Prophecy (17 page)

“We’re safe now,” Pinestar panted.

Bluefur opened her eyes, relieved to find herself on the far edge of the Thunderpath.

Still trembling, she followed the ThunderClan leader as he headed to Highstones. The wind, chilly with night air, whipped through her fur. She shivered and glanced up. The sun was no more than a glow over the jagged peaks, and the sky was black overhead. Trembling, she searched out the brightest star. Could that be Moonflower watching her first journey to the Moonstone?

The land sloped and steepened, and the grass turned to stones beneath their paws. Pinestar was breathing heavily, and Bluefur’s belly was beginning to growl. There would be little to hunt on this bare, rocky soil dotted only with heather made ragged by the wind.

She was relieved when Pinestar paused. He lifted his tawny muzzle and stared up the slope. “Mothermouth.”

Holding her breath, Bluefur followed his gaze. Above them, as the slope grew steeper and rockier, a hole gaped in the hillside. Square and black, it yawned beneath a stone archway.

Pinestar glanced at the moon glowing high overhead. “It’s time.”

“Welcome to Mothermouth.” Pinestar brushed his
tail lightly over Bluefur’s shoulder before entering the tunnel. Almost at once, his red-brown coat vanished into the shadows.

With one last glance at the star-filled sky, Bluefur followed. Darkness swallowed her, pressing so thick that she held her breath and waited for the blackness to swamp her like water. Pinestar’s paw steps brushed the floor as it began to slope deep into the earth, and she padded after him with the blood roaring in her ears.

“Pinestar?” she gasped. Freezing air rushed into her lungs. The taste of water and stone and earth bathed her tongue. Where was he? His scent was lost in the jumble of strange odors. Crushed by the darkness, panic surged through her pelt. She darted forward, squawking as she crashed into him and bowled him over.

“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” Pinestar scrambled to his paws, untangling himself from Bluefur.

Hot with embarrassment, she jumped up, wishing she could see…
something
. “I got scared.” She felt his pelt press against hers.

“We’re nearly there,” he promised. “I’ll walk beside you till it gets lighter.”

“Gets lighter?” Bluefur peered ahead in disbelief. How could it be light down there? And yet, after a few more paw steps, her eyes detected a glow in the tunnel ahead.

As Pinestar pulled away, Bluefur began to make out the tall, smooth sides of the tunnel, glistening with moisture. And then the tunnel opened into a cavern arching high above Pinestar, making the ThunderClan leader look very small. Vast curved walls reached to a high ceiling and there, at the top, a hole was open to the sky. The scents of heather and wind washed down, and moonlight flooded in and bathed the great stone standing in the center of the cave. The stone reached several tail-lengths high, sparkling like countless dewdrops and illuminating the cave like a captured star.

Bluefur’s paws would not move. She stood and stared, horribly aware of the choking blackness that stood between her and freedom, longing to feel the wind in her fur and frightened by the thought that StarClan shared dreams in this place. Were her ancestors with them now, weaving invisibly around her? She pressed herself against a wall, instinctively backing away from the Moonstone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Pinestar told her. “I must share dreams with StarClan now.”

Bluefur crouched down, fluffing out her fur to protect her belly from the freezing stone floor. She wondered if sunshine ever filled this cavern the way moonshine did now, and she
yearned for warmth and brightness to sweep away the cold, eerie glow.

Pinestar approached the Moonstone and, crouching beside it, touched the sparkling crystal with his nose. Instantly his eyes closed and his body stiffened. Bluefur tensed, waiting for sparks or flashes. But nothing moved or changed; the cave was silent but for the wind sighing down around the Moonstone. The journey had been long and she felt tiredness creep through her. Her eyes glazed and grew heavy, and she let them close so that darkness engulfed her.

Dreaming now, she gulped for air and breathed water. Panic surged beneath her pelt as a fierce current swept her off her paws and tumbled her into endless darkness. Water dragged at her fur, filled her nose and eyes and ears, blinding her, deafening her to all but the terror screaming in her mind. Struggling against the torrent, coughing and fighting, Bluefur thrashed her paws, her lungs aching for air. She searched for light to swim toward, some sense of where the breathing world might be, but saw nothing beyond the endless black water.

She woke gasping, her pelt bristling with fear.

Pinestar stood outlined against the shimmering crystal. He stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Nightmare?”

Panting, she nodded and got clumsily to her paws, still drowsy with sleep and swamped by terror.

“Fresh air will clear your head.” Pinestar led the way from the cavern.

Bluefur followed, too shocked by her dream to speak, the memory of drowning seared in her thoughts. She let her
whiskers touch Pinestar’s tail and followed his paw steps up the black, ice-smooth tunnel, until at last moonlight washed her paws and she felt the wind brush her fur.

“We’ll rest here till dawn.” Pinestar was already curling into the smooth shelter of a boulder just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. It was chilly underpaw, but Bluefur was glad to be out in the open. Silverpelt sparkled above them.
Moonflower
. The milk-scent of her mother seemed to enfold her, comforting her. She stopped shivering, but her mind still swirled. Had she just tasted the truth of the prophecy? Was she really going to drown, to be destroyed by water as Goosefeather had told her?

The rising sun woke her. It felt as if she had hardly slept at all, but her dream had faded and she could no longer taste water in her mouth. Bluefur blinked open her eyes and gazed at the milky horizon, watching the pink sun lap the distant moorland.

As she stood and stretched, Pinestar woke beside her and yawned. He stared wearily across the valley. “I suppose we’d better go back.”

Bluefur couldn’t wait to be home, back in the ravine among her Clanmates. She paced the rock, sniffing hopefully for prey, while Pinestar stretched and washed and finally set off down the slope.

They skirted the Twoleg nests, and when they reached WindClan territory they skirted the edge of that, too. Bluefur felt like a thief, skulking in the shadows beyond the scent markers. Pinestar hardly spoke. Bluefur decided that if she
were leader she would not be bullied by WindClan patrols. The warrior code gave them permission to pass over the moors. No cat had the right to stop a leader from sharing with StarClan.

Then she remembered the hostility in Reedfeather’s eyes. Did she really want to face that after such a long journey? Her paws felt too heavy to fight and her mind too sleepy to argue.

“Will they hate us forever?” she wondered out loud.

Pinestar glanced at her. “WindClan?” He sighed, his breath whipped away by the breeze. “They’ll forgive us for the attack, then hate us for some other reason. Just as the other Clans will. The four Clans will be enemies until the end.” He trudged onward, tail down. Though he spoke, he hardly seemed to be talking to Bluefur at all. “And yet we all want the same things: prey to hunt, a safe territory to raise our kits, and peace to share dreams with our ancestors. Why must we hate one another over such simple desires?”

Bluefur stared at the tawny haunches of her Clan leader. Was this really how he saw Clan life? There was more to it than hatred and rivalry! The warrior code told them to protect their Clanmates and fight for what was theirs. Did that mean nothing more than hating every cat beyond their borders? She gazed across the bristling moorland, searching for the dip where the WindClan camp nestled and where her mother had been slaughtered. Maybe that
was
all it meant. She would hate WindClan forever. She would hate any Clan that harmed those she loved, and from what she had seen, the other Clans meant nothing but harm.

They reached the ravine at last and stumbled down on tired paws. Afternoon sun spilled into the camp, lighting the clearing so that Bluefur could see it flashing through the treetops. The familiar scents of home warmed her paws.

“Go rest in your den,” Pinestar ordered as they padded through the gorse tunnel. His tone was brisk; he sounded once more like ThunderClan’s leader, and the weariness she had heard on the moors seemed to have lifted.

Relieved to be back where things felt normal, Bluefur felt her belly rumble. They hadn’t stopped to hunt, and she was starving. But exhaustion reached down into her bones. Sleep first, then food. She scuffed the ground as she stumbled toward the warriors’ den and pushed her way in. Someone had added bracken to her nest and lined it with fresh moss. Gratefully, she sank down into it and closed her eyes.

“You’re back!”

A mouse thudded in front of her nose. Snowfur was circling her nest. “What was it like? Was it big? Did Pinestar dream? Did you dream? What happened?”

Bluefur lifted her head and blinked at her sister. “It was big and shiny, and Pinestar dreamed.”

“What about?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Is it really far? Did you see any Twolegs? How big are Highstones? Sparrowpelt says they’re the biggest things in the world.”

“They’re higher than the moorland. And we avoided the Twolegs. And we walked all day.” Bluefur sniffed the mouse.
Her mouth watered at the smell, but she was too tired to chew. “Thanks for cleaning my nest,” she murmured, eyes half closed.

“That wasn’t me.” Snowfur sounded surprised. “That was Thrushpelt. He said you’d be tired when you got back.”

Bluefur closed her eyes, too tired to comment, and felt Snowfur’s warm muzzle press her head.

“Sleep well, sister.”

Bluefur heard bracken crunch as Snowfur left her to sleep and drifted away into a swirl of stars and voices that whispered just beyond her hearing. And all around her, rushing black water tugged at her pelt and chilled her to the bone.

Bluefur followed Adderfang, Thistlepaw, and Thrushpelt
through the trees as they headed back to the camp after an early border patrol. Soft greenleaf sunshine dappled her pelt, and a bee buzzed close to her ear as it looped its way through a clump of ferns.

“It would be a perfect day to be lying on Sunningrocks,” Thistlepaw mewed wistfully.

Adderfang snorted. “I can’t believe Pinestar hasn’t done anything to take them back from those RiverClan fish-faces.”

“He should have launched an attack the moment they moved the border markers.” Thistlepaw batted the air in a mock lunge. “Instead we have to watch those fish-faces loll about on
our
territory.”

“We don’t need the prey from Sunningrocks,” Thrushpelt pointed out. “There’s enough in the rest of the forest.”

“That’s not the point!” Adderfang snapped. “He’s made us look weak. ShadowClan will be helping themselves to Snakerocks next.”

Bluefur flicked her tail. “ShadowClan can
have
Snakerocks.
It attracts more adders and foxes than it does prey.”

A low growl rumbled in Adderfang’s throat.

“Shedding blood over Sunningrocks is pointless,” Thrushpelt argued. “From what the elders say, it’s happened enough times in the Clan’s history already. It’s easier just to let them have it. We have enough prey.”

“In
greenleaf
!” Thistlepaw snapped. “But what about during leaf-bare, when we need every whisker of territory?”

You’re just repeating what Adderfang’s told you
. Bluefur narrowed her eyes. The mouse-brained apprentice never thought that far ahead on his own. “If it becomes worth fighting over, then I’m sure Pinestar will fight.”

Thistlepaw curled his lip. “Has our leader been confiding in
you?
” he sneered.

“He doesn’t need to,” Bluefur growled as they reached the top of the ravine. “It just makes sense.” She shouldered past Thistlepaw and bounded down the rocks.

Leopardfoot was basking outside the nursery. Her belly was so swollen with kits, she looked as round as a badger.

“Warm enough?” Bluefur asked as she passed.

Leopardfoot lifted her head. “It can’t be too warm for me,” she purred.

Bluefur headed for the fresh-kill pile.

“There’s plenty of prey to choose from.” Lionpaw was lying beside the tree stump with Goldenpaw. “I caught a thrush and a vole myself.”

Goldenpaw flicked her tail across his ears. “Stop showing off!”

Lionpaw lapped at the thick fur around his neck. “I was just being honest.”

Bluefur’s whiskers twitched. “Following the warrior code, I suppose,” she teased. She stepped out of the way as Sunfall came hurrying toward the apprentices’ den.

“Hey, Lionpaw! Have you seen Pinestar?”

Lionpaw looked up. “I thought he went out with a hunting patrol.”

Sunfall narrowed his eyes. “I thought so, too, but the hunting patrol’s just come back and Pinestar’s not with them.”

Bluefur tipped her head on one side. Had the rest of the border patrol noticed her sniffing for Pinestar’s scent as they’d passed the Twolegplace border? She couldn’t forget seeing him with Jake, and since their trip to the Moonstone a moon ago, the feeling that something was wrong with the ThunderClan leader had never entirely gone away. Was he in Twolegplace right now, talking to Jake, making himself comfortable among the kittypets as a way to escape his worries about the Clans?

Lionpaw gave up on his tufty fur and padded over to the bright orange warrior. “Would you like me to look for him?” he offered.

Sunfall shook his head. “I want you to come with me on a patrol to check the border along the river,” he explained. “RiverClan may have taken Sunningrocks from us, but they’re not allowed to set one paw on this side of them. The dawn patrol picked up some scents as far in as the trees, so I think we should patrol there more often in case those fish-faces have
any ideas about invading us. Bluefur, you can come, too.”

Bluefur glanced at the teetering pile of prey. “Have I got time for a mouse?”

“Make it quick.” Sunfall turned. “I’ll round up Sparrowpelt and White-eye.”

Bluefur gulped down a mouse, burping as Lionpaw jumped to his paws.

“Are you coming?” he asked Goldenpaw.

Goldenpaw shook her head. “Dappletail’s teaching me some battle moves for my next assessment.”

Lionpaw glanced at Bluefur. “I guess it’s up to us to scare off those mangy RiverClan cats.” His fur bristled along his back. “Why can’t they stick to their own territory? They don’t even
like
squirrels.”

Bluefur flattened her ears, surprised by his fierceness. He’d been little more than a kit last time they’d fought RiverClan; now he was ready to claw their ears off. She suspected he was secretly hoping they
had
crossed the border, which would give ThunderClan a reason to attack. Thistlepaw wasn’t the only cat in ThunderClan who felt uncomfortable losing Sunningrocks without a fight. But still, she believed Pinestar had been right.

“A battle’s not fun,” she warned Lionpaw.

“At least you’ve had the chance to find out!” he complained. “I only ever get to meet the other Clans at Gatherings!”

Did he really prefer fighting to talking? Bluefur narrowed her eyes, then remembered Crookedjaw. At least in battle you knew where you stood and whom you could trust.

She cuffed Lionpaw softly over the ear. “Come on.”

He stopped arching his back and bristling as though he were already fighting, and followed Bluefur as she joined Sunfall, White-eye, and Swiftbreeze at the entrance.

As soon as they reached the new RiverClan border, Bluefur guessed the dawn patrol had been mistaken. Though the markers were fresh, the only RiverClan scents on this side were so weak they could have drifted across on the breeze. And yet the sight of RiverClan warriors lounging on the warm rocks beyond made Bluefur bristle. She may have defended Pinestar’s decision to let them take the rocks, but to see them using what had been ThunderClan territory made her claws itch.

Sunfall growled beside her, and Swiftbreeze plucked at the ground. “Pinestar’s going to have to take them back eventually,” she spat. “They insult us every time they set paw on those rocks.”

“Cowards!” Lionpaw yowled across the border.

Swiftbreeze quickly tugged him back by his tail. “A smart warrior only starts battles he might win!” she hissed.

The RiverClan warriors were staring through the trees. Bluefur recognized Crookedjaw. Was he a friend or an enemy now? Was she supposed to think of him as she did at Gatherings or in battle?

A tawny pelt slid off the rocks onto the shadowy strip of grass below and padded toward the border.

Oakheart.

Trust Crookedjaw’s arrogant littermate to push his luck.
He padded slowly along the scent markers, glancing through the trees at the ThunderClan patrol.

Bluefur stepped forward and hissed. Oakheart’s eyes gleamed brighter when he saw her, and she found herself drawn into his gaze.

“RiverClan furball!” she spat.

Were his whiskers twitching? She arched her back. How dare he mock her?

“Bluefur!” Sunfall’s sharp mew sounded behind her, but she couldn’t break her gaze.

Then Oakheart turned and padded slowly up the rocks. Bluefur shivered and jerked away.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Swiftbreeze advised.

Bluefur shook her whiskers, wanting to be rid of Oakheart’s gaze. He was as big-headed as Thistlepaw. She snorted angrily as she followed her Clanmates away through the trees.

Pinestar was back when they reached the camp, sitting beside the nettle patch with Patchpelt. “Sunfall.” He nodded in greeting to his deputy as they reached the clearing. “Is all quiet on the borders?”

“Yes,” Sunfall replied. “Did the prey run well for you?”

Pinestar nodded. “StarClan was good to me.”

He just stopped to hunt on his way home from patrol.
Bluefur felt a flicker of relief as she gazed past the ThunderClan leader and saw a plump starling lying on the fresh-kill pile. Pinestar had made a good catch. And more importantly, he hadn’t been in Twolegplace with Jake.

Rosepaw bounced past on Sweetpaw’s heels. “It just sat
under the sycamore as if it wanted to be caught,” she mewed happily. “One pounce and I’d caught it—a nice juicy starling. I bet Leopardfoot will enjoy it.”

So the Clan leader hadn’t caught the starling after all. As Bluefur stiffened, the nursery brambles twitched. Featherwhisker slid out, his eyes bright with worry.

“Leopardfoot’s kits are coming!”

“So early?” Swiftbreeze whipped her head around. “They’re not due for half a moon.” Her eyes shimmered with worry for her daughter.

Patchpelt got to his paws and hurried from the nettle patch. “Is she okay?”

Featherwhisker didn’t answer. Instead he called to the kits’ father. “Pinestar! Will you stay with her while I get supplies?”

Pinestar backed away, looking startled.

Has he forgotten Leopardfoot is having his kits?

“I think it’s best if I leave it to you and Goosefeather.” The ThunderClan leader sounded awkward. Was he just being squeamish?

Swiftbreeze snorted and squeezed into the nursery. “
I’ll
watch her!”

Larksong padded out of the fallen tree with Stonepelt beside her. “New kits!” she rasped, eyes shining.

Featherwhisker hurried toward the medicine den and nearly ran into Goosefeather, who was wandering out of the fern tunnel. “Watch where you’re going!” Featherwhisker snapped. Then he froze. “Sorry!”

But Goosefeather just shambled past his apprentice and stopped at the fresh-kill pile.

“Leopardfoot’s kitting!” Featherwhisker called after him.

“I know, I know,” Goosefeather muttered distractedly as he began pawing through the pile. Turning each piece of prey with his paw, he leaned down and inspected them closely.

Featherwhisker flicked his tail and raced down the fern tunnel.

Snowfur slid out of the warriors’ den. “Did I hear that Leopardfoot’s kits are coming?” She followed Bluefur’s gaze and watched Goosefeather sift through the prey pile. “How can he think about food
now?
”

Patchpelt frowned. “I think he’s looking for omens.”

“Omens can wait!” Snowfur’s ears twitched as a low moan drifted from the nursery. “It sounds as though Leopardfoot needs help.”

Bluefur glanced hopefully at Pinestar. Perhaps he would nudge the medicine cat into action. But Pinestar just stared blankly at Goosefeather while Goosefeather muttered and tossed aside another piece of prey. Bluefur was relieved to see Featherwhisker racing back from the medicine den with a leaf wrap tight in his jaws. He scrambled back inside the nursery.

Thank StarClan,
he
hasn’t turned mouse-brained!

“It’s been so long since there’ve been kits,” Larksong sighed.

Stonepelt picked up a sparrow, which Goosefeather had tossed aside, and carried it into the shade below Highrock. “We might as well eat,” he told Larksong. “These things take time.”

Bluefur paced until her paws ached. As the Clan cats began to return from patrols and hunting parties, they gathered in the clearing, eyes flicking more anxiously toward the nursery as time passed with no word from Featherwhisker.

“Shouldn’t you be with her?” Larksong called pointedly to Pinestar, who was crouched by the nettle patch.

“What could I do?” Pinestar answered. “I’m no medicine cat.”

Larksong muttered something into Stonepelt’s ear and turned her gaze back to the nursery.

Stormtail rebuilt the fresh-kill pile from the prey that Goosefeather had left all over the ground after wandering off. The gray warrior picked up two shrews and carried them to where White-eye and Tawnyspots sat at the edge of the clearing. “There’ll be more warriors for ThunderClan by nightfall,” he meowed.

White-eye flinched as an agonized wail sounded from the nursery. “May StarClan light their path,” she murmured.

The sun began to sink low over the trees when Dappletail and Goldenpaw padded into the camp.

“How was training?” Bluefur called to her old denmate.

“Dappletail says I should be fine for my assessment.” Goldenpaw trotted over and nodded toward the nursery. “What’s going on?”

“Leopardfoot’s kitting,” Bluefur told her.

Dappletail’s tail flicked. “Already?” Her eyes clouded with worry. “How long has she been at it?”

“Most of the afternoon.”

“Is Goosefeather with her?”

“No, Featherwhisker is.”

“Where’s Goosefeather?” Dappletail demanded.

Stormtail looked up from his shrew. “He was at the top of the ravine when we came down.”

Dappletail blinked. “What in the name of StarClan was he doing up there?”

“Staring at the sky when we passed, muttering about clouds,” Stormtail meowed. “I don’t think he noticed us.”

The nursery brambles shivered as Featherwhisker squeezed out. His eyes glittered with tension, and his pelt was sticking up along his flanks. Bluefur hurried to meet him. “Is she okay?”

Featherwhisker didn’t answer. “I need moss soaked with water, and herbs,” he mewed. “Go and ask Goosefeather to give you raspberry leaves.”

Bluefur’s belly tightened. The medicine cat apprentice looked strained, and she was frightened; he might panic if he knew that Goosefeather had wandered off. “He’s not in his den,” she mewed hesitantly.

“Okay.” Featherwhisker stared at her, his mind clearly racing. “They look like this.” He quickly traced out a leaf shape in the dust with his claw. “You’ll have to gather them. I can’t leave her.”

Pelts were bristling around the clearing as the Clan realized that all was not going well. Bluefur stared in panic at the shape he’d scratched. It looked like any other leaf.

“It’s soft to touch but the edges are jagged,” Featherwhisker told her. “And they’re stacked near the back of the den.” He
paused. “Near the catmint. You remember the catmint?”

Bluefur nodded. “I’ll find it,” she promised.

Snowfur brushed up beside her. “And I’ll get the moss.”

Together they charged to the medicine den. While Snowfur picked bundles of moss from the pool at the clearing’s edge, Bluefur slipped into the crack in the rock. The pungent odors of herbs brought back the memory of sneaking in there as a kit with her sister. She wondered how they ever could have been so foolish, and a jab of grief pierced her as she remembered Moonflower dragging them out, her eyes round with fear for her daughters.