Bluestar's Prophecy (35 page)

StarClan has never regretted its choice
.

Snowfur’s words echoed in Bluestar’s ears. Many moons had passed since her naming ceremony. Bluestar had led her Clan through countless seasons, good and bad. She sat on Highrock, letting the newleaf sunshine dapple her pelt. The stone beneath her felt cold, and even the sun seemed unable to soften the chill beneath her pelt. Leaf-bare had been reluctant to loosen its grip on the forest, and prey was still scarce. Even Whitestorm looked bony underneath his thick pelt as he stretched beside the nettle patch. Lionheart sat beside him, wolfing down a scrawny shrew.

Dustpaw, Sandpaw, and Graypaw were play fighting, chasing one another’s tails and bundling one another around the clearing.

Redtail, the ThunderClan deputy, sat beside Bluestar. “I bet they call that
training
,” he meowed, flicking his tail toward the apprentices.

A fourth apprentice, Ravenpaw, was stripping a leaf from its stem, concentrating hard. He carefully ran his claw around the stalk, unaware that Dustpaw was creeping up behind him.

Dustpaw pounced, landing neatly on Ravenpaw’s tail. Shocked, the little black tom leaped into the air.

Bluestar shook her head. Ravenpaw had been nervous from the day he was born. It had taken his mother nearly half a moon to coax him out of the nursery. Bluestar hoped that, by giving him Tigerclaw as a mentor, the young cat would learn to have courage from the fearless warrior.

“Do you remember your first moon of training?” Redtail asked.

Bluestar nodded, sighing as memories warmed her heart. She had played like this with Snowfur and Leopardfoot. Both walked now with StarClan. So many familiar faces had gone: Stormtail, Swiftbreeze, Thrushpelt, Poppydawn, at a time when the Clan was hungrier than it had ever been. Even Thistleclaw.

The spike-furred warrior had died just a few moons earlier, chasing RiverClan invaders out of the territory. He had died as he lived, claws unsheathed, hungry for a fight, and his Clanmates had found him in a pool of blood, like the one Bluestar had seen staining the snow so many moons ago.

The Clan was weaker without him, but she did not miss him. Not in the way she missed Thrushpelt. Her faithful old friend had kept her secret till the end, only ever speaking of the lost kits with the fond grief of a father. Bluestar still carried the guilt of never telling him that two of them lived on. He’d know about that now; he’d see them from StarClan. Finally he would understand why she’d watched those two RiverClan cats with such interest, always seeking them out at Gatherings, cheering with such warmth when their warrior
names were announced. Mistyfoot and Stonefur had become fine warriors. Oakheart and Graypool had raised them well, and she was very proud of them.

Did Oakheart know that?

They had never shared words since the night she’d given him their kits. They kept apart at Gatherings, fearing that some cat might make the connection between the loss of Bluestar’s kits and the appearance of two strays in RiverClan. But she had never stopped loving him or their kits. And the memory of their night at Fourtrees was lodged in her heart.

“I’ve led four good lives,” she murmured.

Redtail looked sideways at her, eyes narrowing. “Feeling nostalgic, eh?”

Bluestar sighed. “You’ll have to indulge me now that I’m old.”

“You’re not old,” Redtail argued.

Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “I’m not young,” she reminded him. “Just look at the white hairs on my muzzle.”

She couldn’t help feeling that most of them had been caused by Thistleclaw. He had snapped at her heels with the hunger of his ambition, bristling when she’d made Redtail deputy, a growl always held back in his throat. He was the reason she’d hidden the loss of three of her lives.

I’ve led four good lives
. The lie had come, as always, with a prick of guilt. She should tell Redtail the truth—that she’d lost seven lives and had just two left. She suspected Redtail knew, though he’d never challenged her. She’d learned the hard way that some things were best kept secret.

Bluestar sighed.

Redtail glanced at her. “What’s worrying you?”

“I was just thinking,” Bluestar murmured. “We’ve had so few kits born recently. Who will keep the Clan strong and well fed through leaf-bare? The elders’ den gets fuller each season.” Halftail, Smallear, Patchpelt, One-eye, and Dappletail all made their nests there now.

On the far side of the clearing, Spottedleaf emerged from the fern tunnel. She was the Clan’s only medicine cat since Featherwhisker had died, killed by the same bout of greencough that had taken one of Bluestar’s lives. But Featherwhisker had trained his apprentice well, and Spottedleaf was passionate about the welfare of her Clanmates. She’d cared for White-eye after she’d lost her blind eye completely and moved to the elders’ den, taking the new name One-eye. Her hearing was as poor as her sight these days.

One-eye wasn’t the only warrior to have changed her name. Sparrowpelt had become Halftail when he’d lost the end of his tail to a badger. Now unable to balance properly, he’d moved to the elders’ den, too, and left the tree climbing to his Clanmates.

The tortoiseshell medicine cat looked exhausted. The sun had risen that morning on a camp full of bleeding, disheartened warriors, driven back from Sunningrocks the day before after a desperate attempt to take it back from RiverClan. Bluestar hadn’t wanted to battle over the disputed rocks yet again. So much blood had been lost there already.
And for what? A few extra tree-lengths of territory to hunt?
But to let RiverClan cats
swarm across the river and hunt for forest prey was seen as a sign of weakness by WindClan and ShadowClan.

So they’d fought, with patrols led by Redtail and Tigerclaw, who at times seemed fiercer and thirstier for battle than his mentor, Thistleclaw, ever had. And they had lost, chased back into the forest bloodied and humiliated. Back to their camp of too many elders and too few apprentices.

What would happen to ThunderClan now?

Bluestar sat alone in the clearing
and gazed up at Silverpelt. All around her, the camp stirred with the restless murmuring of wounded warriors.

Unease chilled her pelt. ThunderClan was weaker now than it had been since Pinestar had been leader. Was this how she blazed through the forest?

Spottedleaf padded out of the fern tunnel and halted beside Bluestar.

Bluestar looked at her. “How’s Mousefur?”

“Her wounds are deep.” Spottedleaf settled herself on the night-cool ground. “But she is young and strong. She’ll heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They’ll survive.”

Bluestar sighed. “We’re lucky not to have lost any cat.” She tilted her head again and studied the stars. “I’m worried by this defeat, Spottedleaf. ThunderClan hasn’t been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she murmured. “These are difficult times for our Clan. Newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs
more warriors if it is to survive.”

“There will be more kits when greenleaf comes,” Spottedleaf pointed out calmly.

Bluestar shifted her paws. “Maybe. But training takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

“Are you asking StarClan for answers?” Spottedleaf mewed, following Bluestar’s gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

“Have they spoken to you?”

“Not for some moons.”

As she spoke, a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s tail twitched, and the fur rippled along her spine. Bluestar’s ears pricked up, but she kept silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward. After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “A message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “
Fire alone can save our Clan
.”

Bluestar’s tail bristled. “Fire?” The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue gaze on the medicine cat. “You’ve never been wrong, Spottedleaf,” she meowed. “It must be so. Fire will save our Clan.”

But how?

“Goosefeather once said I would be the fire,” Bluestar confessed, uneasy at sharing the old medicine cat’s prophecy after all these moons.

“I know.” Spottedleaf gazed at her leader with clear, unblinking eyes.

“Was he right?” Bluestar leaned forward, desperate with curiosity. Had she been chasing an empty dream all these years? Had she sacrificed her kits for nothing?

“You saved the Clan from Thistleclaw’s leadership. He would have drowned us in blood. And you’ve led the Clan through many moons, keeping it strong and safe.”

Bluestar shook her head. “And now I have led it to defeat. That’s not exactly blazing through the forest.”

“Sunningrocks will be won and lost many more times.” Spottedleaf shrugged.

“But if I have followed my destiny, why does StarClan still speak of fire now?”

“Perhaps you haven’t finished,” Spottedleaf mewed.

“What more can I do?”

A moon passed, and the Clan began to recover from its defeat. At last newleaf was pushing away the leaf-bare chill. The forest was starting to buzz with life, the trees a green haze, the undergrowth starting to crowd the forest floor once more.

Bluestar padded beside Whitestorm as they walked along the Twoleg border. “How much do you remember about Snowfur?” she asked. She’d often wondered if her kits remembered her. If they did, they never gave any clue of it at Gatherings.

“I remember her smell and the warmth of lying beside her,” Whitestorm replied. “Having you around kept her memory alive. You carried the same scent and sometimes, even now,
I see my mother in the twitch of your whiskers or the flick of your tail.”

Touched, Bluestar purred. “Do you remember the way Tigerkit was always leading you into trouble, then letting you take the blame?”

Whitestorm flicked his tail. “We had fun, though.”

“And Brindlekit and Frostkit would do anything to get your attention. Brindlekit even convinced you once that there was a fox trapped in the dirtplace!”

Whitestorm glanced at her. “Why all this nostalgia?” he asked.

Bluestar stared straight ahead. “Do you think I’ve made the right choices?”

“Only StarClan knows that for sure,” Whitestorm replied. “We can only do what we think is right at the time.”

“What if that isn’t enough?”

Whitestorm halted and stood in front of her, worry darkening his gaze. “Why are you questioning yourself like this?” He sat down and wrapped his tail over his paws. “I know we lost Sunningrocks, but we’ll win it back once the Clan is stronger. You are a good leader, strong and fair. The Clan respects you.”

“I should never have let the Clan grow weak.”

“It’s been a tough leaf-bare.” A blackbird fluttered onto a branch overhead and began its song. “But newleaf has come.”

Bluestar breathed in the fresh smell of new life. The air was laced with prey-scent. “I wish it could always be this way. Peaceful, with plenty of food.”

Whitestorm’s whiskers twitched. “If wishes were prey, we’d eat like lions come leaf-bare.” He stood up, preparing to move off. “But we’d die of boredom!” His mew grew more serious. “You know that’s not what the life of the Clans is like. The warrior code guides us through the dark times, the cold and the hunger. And the good times seem all the sweeter for it. Have faith, Bluestar. We’ll survive.”

He headed through the trees and, sighing, Bluestar followed. How had the tiny kit she’d helped raise become such a strong, wise warrior?

They weaved along the tree line at the edge of the forest, through air tainted with Twoleg smell. Bluestar gazed at the Twoleg nest beyond the sunny stretch of scrub, thinking as she always did of Pinestar. Now that he walked with StarClan, did he regret his decision to leave?

A flash of orange pelt caught her eye. A ginger kittypet tom was crouching on the fence. He stared into the forest with eyes green as holly leaves, flashing with interest.

“Wait.” Bluestar halted Whitestorm with a touch of her tail. “Keep still.” She didn’t want to frighten this kittypet. As she gazed at him, the sun caught his pelt, sparking like flame.

The kittypet lashed his tail as the blackbird flitted from the trees and swooped overhead. The tom reared up on his hind paws, reaching out with unsheathed claws and missing the swooping bird only by a whisker.

“Not bad,” Whitestorm conceded.

The kittypet had kept his balance, and now he crouched
again, tail twitching with frustration, eyes eager for another bird.

“Are you worried he’ll be a threat to our prey?” Whitestorm whispered.

“Worried?” Bluestar echoed. Worry was the last thing on her mind.

Fire will save the Clan
.

The kittypet twisted his head around to lap his fiery pelt. There was something about the spark in his eye and the sharp-ness of his movements, the restlessness betrayed in his ruffled pelt, that held Bluestar’s attention.

He was just like a Clan cat. Once the kittypet softness had been trained out of him…

No
.

Bluestar shook her head. What was she thinking? The Clan did need new blood, new warriors to strengthen its ranks.

But a kittypet?

The flame-colored kittypet was still on Bluestar’s mind at dusk as she shared tongues with Lionheart and Brindleface. The Clan was content, well fed for the first time in moons, and warm.

“What’s wrong?” Brindleface mewed.

“What?” Bluestar was jolted from her thoughts.

“You’ve been staring into the trees ever since you came back with Whitestorm.”

“Oh, nothing important.” Bluestar got to her paws. Perhaps Spottedleaf might help, even if it was just to tell her not to
be mouse-brained. She padded through the cool fern tunnel. Spottedleaf was shredding herbs in the grassy clearing, squinting in the half-light as she inspected the leaves under her paws.

“Have you eaten?” Bluestar asked.

“I’ll eat when I’ve finished this,” Spottedleaf promised. She didn’t look up from the leaves she was carefully ripping into strips and mixing into fragrant piles.

Bluestar sat down. “I saw a kittypet today,” she began.

“On our territory?” Spottedleaf asked absently.

“On a fence.” Would the medicine cat think she’d gone mad? “There was something about him that made me wonder if he would make a good warrior.”

Spottedleaf looked up, her eyes shining with surprise. “A kittypet?”

“His pelt was the color of flame.”

Spottedleaf blinked. “I understand.” She spoke gravely. “You think he might be the fire.”

Bluestar nodded.

“How will you know if you’re right?”

“I’ll ask Graypaw to stalk him for a while. See how he handles himself. Then I’ll decide whether he could really be a Clan cat.” Her paws began to prick with an excitement that she hadn’t felt for moons. “If he shows promise, I’ll invite him to join the Clan.”

Spottedleaf put down the herb she was holding and stepped forward until she was so close to Bluestar, her breath warmed the Clan leader’s ear. “He will pass every test you set for him.
You will choose him, and you will never regret it. But don’t think this will be easy. You are about to lead the Clan along the hardest path it has ever known.”

She took a pace back, and the intensity in her gaze softened. “May StarClan light your path, always,” she whispered.

Bluestar felt her sister’s scent wreathe around her, mixed with the fragrance of herbs. “Oh, they do,” she whispered.

She pictured the bold ginger kittypet sitting at the border between his world and hers, and a purr rumbled deep in her throat.

You were right, Goosefeather. A fire will blaze through this forest after all
.