Forest Of Secrets

The blind warrior made a curious rasping noise in his throat, like a terrible attempt at laughter. “Spiders have spun webs in your brain, old one. Medicine cats never have kits.”

“That’s why I had to give you up,” Yellowfang told him, seasons of bitterness dripping from each word. “But I never stopped caring…never. When you were a young warrior, I was so proud of you.” Her voice dropped to a low snarl. “And then you murdered Raggedstar. Your own father. You killed kits of our Clan, and made me take the blame. You would have destroyed our Clan completely. So now it is time to put an end to all this treachery.”

“An end? What do you mean, you old…” Brokentail tried to rise to his paws, but his legs gave way and he fell heavily onto his side. His voice rose to a thin screech that chilled Fireheart to the bone. “What have you done? I can’t…can’t feel my paws. Can’t breathe…”

“I fed you deathberries.” Yellowfang’s eyes were mere slits as she gazed at him. “I know this is your last life, Brokentail. Medicine cats always know. Now no cat will ever be hurt again because of you.”

Brokentail’s jaws parted in a cry of shock and fear. Fireheart thought he could hear regret there, too, but the blind warrior was unable to put words to it. His limbs thrashed and his paws scrabbled in the dust; his chest heaved as he fought for air.

Unable to go on watching, Fireheart backed away and crouched at the other end of the fern tunnel, shivering, until the sounds of Brokentail’s last struggle died away. Then, mindful of Cinderpaw’s request, he forced himself to go back, making sure that Yellowfang could hear him pushing his way through the bracken this time.

Brokentail lay motionless in the center of the small clearing. The old medicine cat crouched beside him, her nose pressed to his side. As Fireheart padded up, she raised her head. Her eyes were filled with pain and she looked older and frailer than ever. But Fireheart knew how strong she was, that the sorrow she felt for Brokentail would not destroy her. “I did everything I could, but he died,” she explained.

Fireheart could not tell the medicine cat that he knew she was lying. He would never tell any cat what he had just seen and heard. Trying to keep his voice steady, he meowed, “Cinderpaw sent me to ask you what to do for a scratched tongue.”

Yellowfang struggled to her paws as if she too could feel the numbing touch of deathberries. “Tell her I’m coming,” she rasped. “I just need to fetch the right herb.”

Still unsteady, she staggered over to her den. She did not turn once to look back at Brokentail’s unmoving body.

Fireheart thought he would be unable to sleep, but he was so exhausted that as soon as he curled up in his nest he sank at once into deep unconsciousness. He dreamed that he was standing in a high place, with wind ruffling his fur and the stars of Silverpelt blazing with icy fire above his head.

A warm, familiar scent drifted into his nostrils and he turned his head to see Spottedleaf. She padded up to him and touched her nose gently to his. “StarClan is calling you, Fireheart,” she murmured. “Do not be afraid.” Then she faded, leaving him with nothing but the wind and the stars.

StarClan calling me? Fireheart thought, puzzled. Am I dying, then?

Fear jerked him awake, and he gasped with relief when he found himself safe in the dim light of the den. His wounds from the battle still stung, and as he got up his limbs protested stiffly, but his strength was returning. Still, it was hard to control his shivering. Had Spottedleaf just prophesied his death?

Then he realized that the chill he felt was not just because of fear. The den, usually warm from sleeping bodies, was cold and empty. Outside he could hear the murmuring of many cats. When he pushed his way out to join them, he saw that nearly all the Clan was already assembled in the clearing, with the pale light of dawn just rising above the trees.

Sandstorm pushed her way through a group of cats. “Fireheart!” she mewed urgently. “Moonhigh has come and gone, and Bluestar hasn’t named the new deputy!”

“What?” Fireheart stared at the pale ginger she-cat in alarm. The warrior code had been broken! “StarClan will be angry,” he murmured.

“We must have a deputy,” Sandstorm went on, lashing her tail in agitation. “But Bluestar won’t even come out of her den. Whitestorm tried to talk to her, but she sent him away.”

“She’s still shocked about Tigerclaw,” Fireheart pointed out.

“But she’s the leader of this Clan,” retorted Sandstorm. “She can’t just curl up in her den and forget about the rest of us.”

Fireheart knew she was right, but he could not stifle a pang of sympathy for Bluestar. He knew how much she had depended on Tigerclaw, loyally defending him against Fireheart’s accusations. She had chosen him to be her deputy, and had trusted him to help her lead the Clan. She must be shattered to realize that she had been wrong all along, and that never again would she be able to count on Tigerclaw’s strength and fighting skills.