Bluestar's Prophecy (32 page)

Her belly rumbling with hunger, Bluefur
padded home through the forest. She couldn’t push away the image of Oakheart, and the way his eyes had glittered with sadness. The leaf-bare trees creaked and rattled above her, and on either side of the trail, the bushes were dying back from the cold. Had she really run through there as an apprentice? Chased Snowfur between the trees, caught her first prey, practiced fighting and hunting? She had never realized how easy it had been or how happy she was.

Everything was different now. Even the trees looked unfamiliar.

“Bluefur?”

Thrushpelt was calling her from the trail ahead, his sandy-gray pelt blending with the walls of frost-burnt bracken. “Are you okay?” His eyes were round with concern.

Bluefur padded on with her head down. “Just going back to camp.”

He didn’t step aside to let her pass, but gently held his tail up to block her way. “Stop,” he ordered.

She looked into his eyes and saw a tenderness that took her by surprise.

“Rosetail has just congratulated me on becoming a father,” he meowed.

Bluefur felt the world spin around her. “She couldn’t! She promised!”

“Is she right? Are you having kits?”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell her that you were the father.” Mortified, Bluefur searched for words. “She just guessed, and it was easier….” She stopped. She couldn’t give anything away.

“So you
are
going to have kits?” Thrushpelt pressed.

Bluefur blinked. “Yes, I am.” She waited for him to ask whose they were. Why she’d lied. But he just stood and watched her.

At last he spoke. “I’m not going to ask who the father is,” he meowed. “I’m sure there’s a reason why you’ve kept this secret.”

Bluefur plucked at a fern straying across the ground. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out differently. I—I would have been happy with you, I know. But now everything has gone wrong, and I don’t know what to do.”

Thrushpelt shifted his paws. “You can tell the Clan I’m the father, if you want. I mean, if it makes things easier.”

Bluefur stared at him. “You’d really do that?” Was she the only cat not willing to make a sacrifice for these kits?

Thrushpelt nodded. “You know how I feel about you, Bluefur. I’d do my best to make you happy, I promise. And I’ll love your kits as though they were really my own.”

“I—I can’t let you,” she began.

Shrieks ripped the air.

Thrushpelt pricked his ears. “Thistleclaw and Tigerclaw have found a trespasser by the sound of it. They may need help.” He hared away down the path, heading for the river.

Bluefur recognized that yowl.
Oakheart!
She pelted after Thrushpelt, puffing with the effort. She skidded out onto the shore and saw Thistleclaw pinning Oakheart to the stones by his throat. Tigerclaw stood to one side, watching, while Thrushpelt circled nervously, scanning the far bank for cats coming to Oakheart’s rescue.

“You filthy fish-eater,” the spiky warrior was growling into Oakheart’s stricken face. “What are you doing on our territory? I should rip your throat out!”

“There might be more on their way,” Thrushpelt warned. “I’ll get help.” He vanished into the forest.

Terror scorched through Bluefur. “What are you doing?” She darted toward Thistleclaw, unsheathing her claws, her eyes fixed on Oakheart struggling in the warrior’s grip.

Tigerclaw stepped forward to block her. “This RiverClan filth is trespassing,” he growled. “We have to punish him.”

Staring past him, Bluefur could see blood welling at Oakheart’s throat, turning Thistleclaw’s paws red. With a shriek, she surged forward, knocking Tigerclaw off balance. Claws out, she ripped Thistleclaw off Oakheart and flung him aside.

Thistleclaw rolled over and sprang to his paws. “Have you gone mad?” he snarled. “It’s not a kit this time! It’s a RiverClan warrior. He’s invading our territory!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bluefur snapped. “What could he do on his own?”

Thistleclaw glared wildly around. “There may be others!”

“There aren’t.” Oakheart had staggered to his paws, slowly twisting his head from side to side. “I—I got swept here by a wave. I’ll leave now.”

“Not so fast.” Thistleclaw sprang in front of him, blocking his exit.

Bluefur darted between them. “Enough, Thistleclaw! You’ve taught him a lesson. I’m sure he won’t come back here again.” She met Oakheart’s gaze and saw nothing but sadness. “Let him go.” Her plea came as a whisper. She was begging for Oakheart, but the words echoed in her heart.
Let him go
.

Oakheart stumbled past her and slid into the river.

“Traitor!” Thistleclaw shoved Bluefur, sending her stumbling onto her haunches. His claws were still unsheathed and tufted with Oakheart’s fur. “You’re a coward and a fool! I’ve never once seen you defend our borders. What kind of warrior are you?” He stepped close, his breath coming fast, his eyes wild with blood-hunger. “Do you
know
that RiverClan warrior?” he hissed slowly.

Fighting back panic, Bluefur forced her pelt to lie flat. “He’s called Oakheart. I’ve seen him at Gatherings.”

Thistleclaw leaned closer until he was a whisker away from her muzzle. “I didn’t ask if you knew who he was, I asked if you
knew him
.” Unblinking, he added, “Better than the warrior code allows.”

Has he seen us together? Overheard something?
Bluefur forced
herself to meet Thistleclaw’s gaze without flinching. “Of course not,” she spat.

Thistleclaw lurched away and began to pace up and down the shore, staring across the river. “We need more patrols,” he muttered. “It’s too easy to invade. Too many invaders. Only fear will keep them out. We must mark our borders with the blood of our enemies.” Spittle bubbled at his mouth.

Bluefur backed away, shaking. He sounded insane!

The undergrowth shook as Thrushpelt burst onto the shore. Adderfang, Sparrowpelt, and Lionheart hurtled out behind him.
Thank StarClan!
They might be able to calm him.

But when Thistleclaw turned around, his eyes were mild and his fur flat. “Nothing to worry about,” he mewed evenly. “Just a RiverClan warrior sniffing around. We chased him off.”

“Nice job,” Adderfang praised.

“Well spotted,” Sparrowpelt added.

Thrushpelt caught Bluefur’s eye, puzzled. Bluefur shook her head. This wasn’t the time to challenge Thistleclaw.

Adderfang nodded at Tigerclaw. “I hope you’re still learning from Thistleclaw. He’s quite a warrior. Impressive paw steps to fill.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head. “I never miss a thing,” he meowed smoothly.

“Is the area clear?” Adderfang asked.

“Clear.” Thistleclaw headed into the trees. He didn’t even glance at Bluefur. It was as if nothing had passed between them at all.

Bluefur tagged behind with Thrushpelt as the patrol headed back to camp. Was Oakheart okay? Did he make it back to his Clanmates? At least Ottersplash’s patrol hadn’t come back to look for him. It would only have confirmed Thistleclaw’s paranoia.

Blood lies in his path.

Bluefur shivered. She had to warn Sunstar.

Back at camp, the ThunderClan leader listened to reports from Thistleclaw and Adderfang. He’d taken them to his den and, frustrated, Bluefur could only guess what Thistleclaw was telling him about Oakheart’s “invasion.” She waited impatiently, pacing around the clearing even though her paws were sore and tired.

“Here.” Thrushpelt dropped a sparrow at her paws. “You need to eat.”

Bluefur sighed and sat down. It was pointless to pretend she wasn’t hungry. Her belly felt empty all the time now.

Thrushpelt watched as she began to eat. “Have you thought about what I said?” he asked.

Bluefur swallowed. With Thistleclaw so suspicious of her relationship with Oakheart, she’d be mouse-brained not to take up Thrushpelt’s offer. “Do you really mean it?”

Thrushpelt nodded.

“Thank you.” As she bent down to take another bite of sparrow, the lichen at Sunstar’s den swished, and Adderfang and Thistleclaw padded out.

Bluefur glanced at Thrushpelt. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She hurried to the ThunderClan leader’s den. “It’s Bluefur,”
she called through the lichen.

“Come in.”

She pushed her way in, sending light rippling across the sandy cave floor.

Sunstar sat in shadow. “We’re lucky to have loyal warriors like Thistleclaw.”

Bluefur stiffened. “I know he’s loyal, but—”

Sunstar cut her off. “He’s a warrior ThunderClan can be proud of.”

“But I was there when he was attacking Oakheart.”

“
Attacking
?” Sunstar eyed her quizzically. “I thought he was defending. Oakheart was the one who was trespassing. Thistleclaw was merely following the warrior code.”

“The warrior code speaks of fairness and mercy,” Bluefur began. Thistleclaw had been ruthless. “He would have murd—” Before she could finish, Sunstar interrupted.

“You shouldn’t get involved in any more border skirmishes.”

Bluefur was puzzled. Didn’t he trust her? What had Thistleclaw said about her?

Sunstar glanced at her belly. “At least not until after your kits are born.”

“You know?” Bluefur gasped.

“It’s getting obvious,” Sunstar purred. “I may not have had kits myself, but I know what an expectant queen looks like.” He padded past her, nosing through a gap in the lichen. Then he paused and looked back. “You’ll be a wonderful mother, an asset to the Clan.” A small sigh escaped him. “I had hoped
that one day you’d follow in my paw steps, but StarClan seems to have a different path for you. Fortunately,” he went on, gazing out at the clearing, “there’s another who may be able to lead this Clan one day.”

Belly tightening, Bluefur followed his gaze.

He was staring at Thistleclaw.

The spiky warrior was boasting about his great victory over Oakheart to an excited knot of cats, while Tigerclaw raked the air, demonstrating his moves. Chilled to the bone, Bluefur backed away.

Thistleclaw couldn’t be allowed to take over ThunderClan. He would destroy them all!

“Are they coming yet?” White-eye called
. She tugged Runningkit back by his tail and tucked him in their nest beside his sister. Mousekit had fallen asleep, tired of waiting for her new denmates to arrive.

Sunlight filtered into the nursery, muted by the thick layer of snow weighing heavily on the bramble roof. Inside it was warm from the breath of several cats crowded together.

“It won’t be long,” Featherwhisker murmured, concentrating hard as Bluefur shuddered with another contraction. Spottedpaw leaned in close.

“Put your paw here.” Featherwhisker placed his new apprentice’s paw on Bluefur’s belly. “Can you feel her body trying to push the kits out?”

Spottedpaw nodded solemnly. When Goosefeather had moved to the elders’ den half a moon ago, Spottedpaw had begged to switch from her warrior training to learning to be a medicine cat. Featherwhisker had told Sunstar that he could think of no better apprentice. Her memory for herbs was outstanding, and even more important, the pretty young tortoiseshell’s compassion shone in every word and every look.

“Get your paws off!” Bluefur hissed, wracked by another contraction. As it faded she saw dismay in Spottedpaw’s gentle gaze. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

“Did I hurt you?” Spottedpaw fretted.

Featherwhisker stroked his tail along the young cat’s flank. “No,” he assured her. “Queens can be a bit crabby when kitting.” He narrowed his eyes at Bluefur. “Some are crabbier than others.”

“You’d be crabby if you’d been kitting since dawn!” Bluefur snapped, pain convulsing her body once more.

Oh, Snowfur, help me!

Soft breath stirred her ear fur, and an achingly familiar scent wreathed around her.

Not much longer, my precious sister. You’re doing well.

“Here comes the first one,” Featherwhisker mewed. “Spottedpaw, when it arrives, nip the kitting sac with your teeth to release it.”

Spottedpaw wriggled into position as a small, wet bundle tumbled into the nest.

“A tom!” Featherwhisker announced.

“Is he okay?” Bluefur craned her neck to see her first kit, her paws trembling with excitement.

“Quick, Spottedpaw!” Featherwhisker instructed. “Lick him fiercely!”

Bluefur gasped. “Is he breathing?”

Her heart lurched when Featherwhisker hesitated.

“Well?”

“He is now.” Featherwhisker picked up the tiny kit and put him beside Bluefur’s belly.

He felt warm and damp against her fur. Trembling with relief, Bluefur leaned forward and sniffed her son. It was the most perfect scent in the world. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Another wave of pain rippled along her flank.

Not much longer
, Snowfur promised.

“A she-kit,” Featherwhisker meowed as he placed a second kit next to her belly. He pressed his paw gently on her flank. “One more I think.”

There was a final, heaving pain, and Bluefur flopped down onto the moss, panting.

“Well done!” Featherwhisker congratulated her. “Another she-kit! And all three look healthy and strong.”

Well done
, Snowfur’s soft mew whispered.

Thank you, Snowfur
. Bluefur wrapped her tail around her three new kits and held them tightly to her belly. As they began to suckle, memory of the pain faded like a bad dream.
Oakheart, we have two daughters and a son
.

The brambles rustled, and Thrushpelt squeezed into the den. “How is she?”

“Bluefur’s fine,” Featherwhisker told him. “She had three healthy kits. Two she-kits and a tom.”

Thrushpelt purred with delight, and Bluefur felt a rush of gratitude. She had decided not to tell her Clanmates that he was the father—though she suspected many of them had assumed he was. But Thrushpelt had never betrayed Bluefur’s
secret; if any of their Clanmates mentioned the forthcoming kits to them, he just nodded and said it was excellent news for the Clan. Now he leaned into the nest and nuzzled them. “I would have been very proud to have been their father,” he whispered to Bluefur.

Bluefur’s heart ached. “You’re a good friend,” she whispered back.

“What are you going to call them?” White-eye mewed, padding from her nest.

“The dark gray she-kit will be Mistykit,” Bluefur purred. “And the gray tom, Stonekit.” She wanted to give them names that reminded her of the river.

“What about this one?” Thrushpelt stroked the tiny pale-gray-and-white kit with the tip of his tail.

“Mosskit,” Bluefur decided.

Featherwhisker’s whiskers twitched. “So you’re not letting the father decide on any of the names?” he teased. “You always
were
determined, Bluefur.” Behind his eyes, curiosity gleamed.

Sorry, Featherwhisker. You’ve been good to me, but this is my secret to keep.

Bluefur bent over her kits once more and began lapping at their damp pelts. If only Oakheart could see them. She recognized the shape of the RiverClan warrior’s head in Stonekit’s and felt his sleek fur as she washed Mosskit.
I’ll love you enough for both of us
, she promised.

Hugging them closer, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

Snow still lay heavy in the camp half a moon later. Bluefur was worried that her kits would get too cold as she sat near the nursery entrance and watched them batting at the drifting flakes, squeaking with excitement.

“Should I take them inside?” she asked White-eye.

“Kits are tougher than they look,” White-eye soothed. “If you see their noses turning pale, then it’s time to take them in.”

Bluefur peered at the three kits’ noses; they were as pink as berries as the kits hopped through the snow, chasing one another’s tails. Runningkit and Mousekit, three moons older, were teasing them by flicking lumps of snow at them and then looking innocent when the kits skidded to a halt to complain.

Adderfang was clearing snow from the entrance tunnel, helped by Windflight and Swiftbreeze. Thistleclaw was demonstrating fighting moves to Redpaw and Willowpaw next to the snow-crushed nettle patch. Willowpaw’s pale pelt was hardly visible against the whiteness. Sunstar and Stormtail were digging through the snow where the fresh-kill pile used to be.

“Nothing left.” Sunstar sat back on his haunches, disappointed.

Stormtail sighed. “We’ll just have to keep sending out hunting patrols until someone catches something.” He glanced toward the nursery, his eyes dark with worry. “Even the queens are starting to look thin.”

Featherwhisker was carrying a bundle of herbs to the elders’ den.

“Is everything okay?” Sunstar called to him.

“Yes,” Featherwhisker mumbled through his jawful of leaves. “I’m just trying to make sure it stays that way.” He nodded to Goosefeather, who was squeezing out through the branches of the fallen tree. “Settled in now?”

“What?” Goosefeather looked distracted.

“Is your nest comfortable?” Featherwhisker pressed.

“Yes, fine.” Goosefeather padded across the clearing as Featherwhisker disappeared into the elders’ den.

Bluefur watched the old medicine cat approach. He had a fierce, glazed look in his eyes that made her pelt tingle. What was he going to say this time? She glanced at her kits, who were now tumbling down the snow that had drifted against the warriors’ den. “Don’t disturb Smallear!” she warned. “He’s trying to get some rest.”

“We won’t,” Stonekit promised, clambering up the pile again and bundling back down. He sat up at the bottom, scattering snow when he shook his ears.

Bluefur shook her head fondly.

A shadow fell across her. “This was not part of the prophecy,” Goosefeather hissed. “Fire must burn without bonds.”

Bluefur stood up and faced him. She may have doubted once that fire burned inside her, but she was sure now that it did. She felt it scorching beneath her pelt, giving her the strength of a lion to protect her kits. “The prophecy can wait,” she growled. “My kits need me now.”

“What about your Clan?” Goosefeather turned and looked at Thistleclaw on the other side of the clearing. The warrior’s coat was ridged with snow as he tried to coax Redpaw to reach higher with his swiping forepaws.

“Stretch your claws!” he snapped. “You won’t be fighting mice.”

Bluefur sighed. What could she do?

“Watch this!” Mistykit called as she flung herself headfirst down the snow pile.

The yew bush shook as Smallear stormed out. “Can’t you kits play anywhere else?” he grumbled.

Bluefur called, “I’m sorry, Smallear. I warned them.”

Smallear’s gaze softened as Mosskit tumbled toward him, squealing, “Look at
meeeeeee
!”

“I suppose they’re not kits for long,” the warrior sighed, padding toward the fallen tree. “Perhaps Stonepelt will let me squeeze in with him for a nap.”

Goosefeather turned back to Bluefur, and his blue eyes were as empty as the sky. “If Thistleclaw becomes deputy, it will be the end of ThunderClan.”

Bluefur narrowed her eyes. “My kits need me,” she repeated.

“They’re not just
your
kits,” Goosefeather told her. “They have a father who would raise them.”

Bluefur’s heart lurched. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you,” Goosefeather murmured. “With Oakheart, near Fourtrees.”

Bluefur flinched as if he’d struck her.
He knows!

“I do not stand in judgment, Bluefur,” Goosefeather mewed gently. “You never set out to betray your Clan. But these kits will drown in blood with the rest of their Clanmates unless you act. You are still the fire that will scorch a different path for ThunderClan.”

“Bluefur!” Stonekit’s panicked squeak made her spin around. Mosskit had tumbled into a drift up to her ears. Bluefur hurried over and plucked her out by the scruff, shaking the snow from the tiny bundle of fur and placing her on a firmer patch.

Was Goosefeather right? Was she the only one who could save her Clan? He had been wrong before. His Clanmates had stopped listening to his dark warnings long before he’d retired to the elders’ den. Did he really know what their warrior ancestors had planned for the Clans? Heart quickening, she glanced at the sky.
StarClan, give me a sign!
But she saw nothing except the thick, creamy clouds of leaf-bare.

Snow slumped from the gorse barrier as a hunting patrol pushed through the entrance tunnel. Whitestorm, Lionheart, and Goldenflower padded into the camp, tails down. Whitestorm clutched one scrawny sparrow in his jaws.

“Is that it?” Sunstar demanded, bounding over to inspect the catch.

“We’ve been everywhere,” Lionheart reported. “The forest is empty.”

“Did you try digging?” Sunstar pressed.

“The prey is too well hidden.” Goldenflower sighed.

Sunstar scanned the camp, his gaze flitting over his
Clanmates, all as thin as bones. “The queens must be fed first,” he decided.

Whitestorm carried the sparrow to the nursery entrance and laid it at White-eye’s paws. The half-sighted queen glanced at Bluefur. “You have first bite,” she offered.

Gratefully Bluefur bit into the sparrow. She’d been hungry for days, and she knew from the way her kits paddled their little feet against her belly that she wasn’t producing enough milk for them. She wrinkled her nose as she tasted the dry flesh, stiff and sour as bark.

Featherwhisker wove his way through the drifts from the fallen tree, the branches dropping snow on his pelt. “Is that fresh-kill?” he called. He stared, disappointed, at the half-chewed sparrow. “The elders are starving,” he sighed.

“They can have a bite of this,” White-eye offered.

Featherwhisker shook his head.

“What about Tawnyspots?” Bluefur suggested. “He needs to keep his strength up.” The ThunderClan deputy no longer even left the medicine clearing to use the dirtplace.

She picked up the sparrow, ready to take it to him. Featherwhisker stopped her with a paw. “He won’t eat it,” he murmured. “He hasn’t been able to keep anything down for days.”

Bluefur froze. “Is he dying?”

Featherwhisker steadily met her gaze. “He’s not getting better.”

Bluefur hardly heard him. She was staring at Thistleclaw. The dark brown warrior was watching Featherwhisker with
pricked ears. His eyes gleamed.

Bluefur blinked. Thistleclaw’s spiky pelt was glistening. Was he
wet?
Something dark and sticky was flowing down his pelt.

Blood!

Thistleclaw was drenched with blood. It oozed from his fur and dripped from his whiskers, staining the snow around him scarlet.

Horrified, Bluefur backed away.

“What is it?” Featherwhisker mewed. “Bluefur?”

When she felt the medicine cat’s tail touch her shoulder, Bluefur blinked and the blood disappeared. Thistleclaw was glaring at her, his tabby pelt once more brown and tufty.

She caught Goosefeather’s eye, and he nodded. He’d seen it too. A vision of ThunderClan’s path if Thistleclaw was to lead them.

Shaking, Bluefur stared at her kits.
How could I give you up
?

“I’m hungry!” Mistykit complained, trotting up with her tail sticking out.

“Let’s go inside.” The words stuck in Bluefur’s throat.
I have no choice. I have to save my Clan.

A full moon hung above Fourtrees. The clouds had cleared though snow still smothered the forest.

The Gathering had begun.

Bluefur stared around the clearing, blind to the cats mingling around her. She saw the roots where she made a nest with Oakheart; the branches they had climbed to look at the
sky. She wished she were high up there now, closer to the stars than to the problems of her Clan, far from the grief that tore at her heart.

Stop it!
There was no time to indulge in sadness or memories. She searched the pelts streaming around her.
Where are you, Oakheart? Please be here
.

The hollow was noisy, full of chatter, swirling with cats. Sunstar had let her come to the Gathering even though she was a nursing queen; she wondered if something in her eyes had persuaded him. She pictured her kits now, safe and warm beside White-eye’s belly.