The Forgotten Warrior

Yellowfang let out a hiss, her embarrassment completely gone. “What did I tell you about Leafpool? She is not allowed to use her medicine cat skills anymore, and neither can Cinderheart, if she chooses to be a warrior.”

Jayfeather’s irritation spilled over. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” he snapped, “that’s just a load of badger droppings. Leafpool helped Cherrypaw and Mousewhisker when they accidentally ate hemlock, and nothing bad happened because of it. Okay, no cat expects StarClan to send her messages for the Clan in her dreams anymore, but why should she forget what she knows? There’s nothing secret about using marigold to fight infection or juniper berries for bellyache! Most of the cats in the Clan know that.”

Yellowfang’s tangled gray fur had begun to bristle. “Who are you to tell StarClan what a medicine cat may or may not do?”

“I am a cat who cares for his Clan!” Jayfeather hissed back. “I’m not going to tell Cinderheart or Leafpool to ignore what they know when they might be able to save lives.”

Yellowfang’s shoulders sagged suddenly; she looked weary and discouraged. “Perhaps StarClan underestimated the strength of Cinderpelt’s spirit to survive,” she admitted, “and carry on her loyalty to her medicine cat duties. Cinderheart will have to make her own choice, medicine cat or warrior. She has the right to choose her destiny.”

“What, and I don’t?” Jayfeather muttered.

“Because of the prophecy?” Yellowfang retorted, her momentary weakness vanishing. “That’s different. It has nothing to do with StarClan. It was decided long ago, by cats who have been forgotten more moons back than you can possibly imagine. We have waited a long time for this moment, Jayfeather. And now the moment has nearly come.”

Jayfeather still felt exhausted when he woke, depressed by his memories of the Gathering: the accusation, the turmoil, and the storm. He let out a long sigh, trying to summon up the energy to climb out of his nest.

“Here.” Briarlight dropped a mouse in front of his nose. “Eat!” she prompted when Jayfeather did no more than sniff it.

He thought of protesting that he wasn’t hungry, but he knew that Briarlight would nag him until he had finished every scrap of the fresh-kill. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a bite. His jaws watered at the taste of the juices, and he realized how hungry he was.

“I heard what happened at the Gathering,” Briarlight went on. “I’m really sorry. Surely no cat will believe what Dawnpelt said?”

“I don’t know,” Jayfeather replied between mouthfuls. “Strange things are happening in all the Clans, so why shouldn’t one medicine cat murder another?”

“Because that would never happen,” Briarlight insisted. “Especially not you.”

Jayfeather was touched by her loyalty. “Go and visit the nursery,” he told her, running his tongue over his whiskers to capture the last scraps of mouse. “See how Sorreltail’s kits are doing.”

“Okay.” Jayfeather could tell Briarlight was pleased to be given the task. “But what about Cinderheart?” She sounded baffled and uncertain.

“I need to talk to her today,” Jayfeather meowed. “You go to the nursery.”

As soon as Jayfeather headed out of his den, he located Cinderheart padding toward him. Her pawsteps were weary, dragging on the ground. Behind her, the first patrols were leaving the clearing. Hollyleaf was leading another underground training group.

“We’ve had to wait so long to go into the tunnels!” Molepaw meowed, bubbling over with excitement. “I don’t care how dark and scary the others say it is. I’m not scared.”

“Neither am I.” Cherrypaw was bouncing on her paws. “I’m going to be the best underground fighter in ThunderClan.”

“You are not! I am!” her brother insisted, and the two apprentices rolled over in a scuffle.

“That’s enough,” Foxleap growled. “Or Hollyleaf won’t take you down there at all.”

Molepaw and Cherrypaw instantly sprang to their paws; Jayfeather could picture them with head and tail erect as they followed Hollyleaf and their mentors out of the camp.

“Don’t tell me I should be going out with the patrols,” Cinderheart sighed as Jayfeather padded up to her.

How many cats have been telling you that you shouldn’t be a medicine cat? Jayfeather wondered, picking up her defensiveness, but he didn’t ask the question aloud. Instead, he mewed, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. Come for a walk with me.”

Branches rustled gently over their heads as Jayfeather and Cinderheart headed for the lake. As the end of greenleaf approached, the leaves smelled tired, sap-heavy, and dusty. Some of Jayfeather’s weariness faded as he sat beside the lake, enjoying the fresh breeze that blew off the water.

“Try to think of it this way,” he began. “You should feel very lucky. StarClan has given you the chance to choose your own destiny: to be a warrior, a mate, a mother—all the things that you were denied as Cinderpelt.”

“But is it a real choice?” Cinderheart asked miserably. “What about my duty to my Clan?”