Firepaw dropped onto his belly and stretched his paws out in front of him.
Bluestar circled slowly on her mossy nest. “I’m still aching from our training session yesterday,” she admitted when she had finally settled herself and curled her tail around her paws. “You fought well, young one.”
For once, Firepaw didn’t stop to bask in her praise. His heart was thumping. This was the perfect moment to tell his leader his fears about Tigerclaw. He lifted his chin, ready to speak.
But it was Bluestar who spoke first, staring past him at the far wall of her den. “I can still smell the stale stench of ShadowClan in the camp,” she murmured. “I hoped never to see the day when our enemy broke into the heart of ThunderClan.” Firepaw nodded in silent agreement, sensing Bluestar was going to say more.
“And so many deaths.” She sighed. “First Redtail, then Lionheart. I thank StarClan at least the warriors we have left are strong and loyal like them. At least with Tigerclaw as deputy, ThunderClan may still be able to defend itself.” Firepaw’s heart plummeted and an icy chill cut deep into him as Bluestar went on. “There was a time, when Tigerclaw was a young warrior, that I feared for the strength of his passion. Such energy can need careful channeling. But now I am proud to see how much respect the Clan has for him. I know he is ambitious, but his ambition makes him one of the bravest cats I have ever had the honor to fight alongside.”
Firepaw knew at once that he could not tell Bluestar his suspicions about Tigerclaw. Not when Bluestar looked to her deputy to protect the whole Clan. He would have to save Ravenpaw himself. He took a deep breath and blinked slowly, so that when Bluestar turned and looked directly into his eyes, no trace of his shock and disappointment remained.
Her next words were quiet and full of concern. “You know Brokenstar will return. He made it clear at the Gathering that he wants hunting rights in all the territories.”
“We fought him off once. We can do it again,” Firepaw insisted.
“That’s true,” Bluestar acknowledged with a wry nod. “StarClan will honor your courage, young Firepaw.” She paused and licked a healing wound on her side. “I think you ought to know that, in the battle with the rats, it was not my fifth life that I lost, but my seventh.”
Firepaw sat bolt upright, shocked.
Bluestar went on. “I have let the Clan believe it was my fifth because I don’t want them to fear for my safety. But two more lives, and I will have to leave you to join StarClan.”
Firepaw’s mind was racing. Why was she telling him this? “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bluestar,” he purred respectfully.
Bluestar nodded. “I am tired now,” she rasped. “Off you go. And Firepaw, I don’t expect you to repeat this conversation to anyone.”
“Of course, Bluestar,” Firepaw replied as he nosed his way out through the curtain of lichen.
Longtail was still sitting by the entrance. Firepaw stepped past him and made his way toward his den. He didn’t know which part of his conversation with Bluestar had been more bewildering.
He was stopped in his tracks by a yowl of horror coming from the nursery. Frostfur came sprinting into the clearing, her tail bristling and her eyes wide with alarm. “My kits! Someone has taken my kits!”
Tigerclaw bounded over to her. He called to the Clan, “Quick, search the camp! Whitestorm, stay where you are. Warriors, patrol the camp boundary. Apprentices, search every den!”
Firepaw rushed to the nearest den, the warriors’, and pushed his way inside. It was empty. He scrabbled through the bedding with his paws but there was neither sight nor scent of Frostfur’s kits.
He charged outside and headed for his own den. Ravenpaw and Graypaw were already inside, pushing aside their nests, sniffing every corner. Dustpaw and Sandpaw were searching the elders’ den. Firepaw left them to it and charged from one clump of grass to another, pushing his muzzle into them, ignoring the nettles that stung his nose. There was no sign of the kits anywhere. He looked around the camp boundary. Warriors paced backward and forward, urgently sniffing the air.
Suddenly Firepaw spotted Yellowfang in the distance. She was pushing her way through an unguarded part of fern wall. She must have found a scent, he thought, and raced toward her as her tail disappeared into the greenery. By the time he arrived at the fern wall, she had gone. He sniffed the air. No kit-scent, just the bitter smell of Yellowfang’s fear. What was she afraid of? Firepaw wondered.
Tigerclaw’s yowl sounded from the bushes behind the nursery. All the cats raced over to him, headed by Frostfur. They crowded as closely as they could, jostling to see through the dense undergrowth. Firepaw nosed his way forward and saw Tigerclaw standing over a motionless bundle of dappled fur.
Spottedleaf!
Firepaw stared in disbelief at her lifeless body. Fury rose in him like a dark cloud, and he felt the blood roaring in his ears. Who had done this?
Bluestar stepped through the crowd and leaned over the medicine cat. “She has been killed by a warrior blow,” she meowed softly.
Firepaw craned his neck and saw a single wound on the back of Spottedleaf’s neck. His head swam and suddenly he was unable to see clearly.
Through his grief, Firepaw heard a murmur at the back of the crowd that swelled into a single piercing yowl.
“Yellowfang is gone!”
Chapter 21
“Yellowfang has killed Spottedleaf and taken my kits!” screeched Frostfur. The other queens rushed to Frostfur’s side and tried to calm her with licks and caresses, but Frostfur pushed them away and wailed her grief to the darkening sky. As if in reply, the sky rumbled ominously and a cold wind ruffled the cats’ fur.
“Yellowfang!” hissed Tigerclaw. “I always knew she was a traitor. Now we know how she managed to fight off the ShadowClan deputy. It was a setup to let her trick her way into our Clan!”
Lightning crackled overhead, punctuating Tigerclaw’s words with a glaring white flash, and a clap of thunder rolled around the woods.
Firepaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dazed with grief, his mind whirled. Could Yellowfang really have killed Spottedleaf?
Above the shocked murmurings, Darkstripe meowed loudly, “Bluestar! What do you say?”
The cats fell silent as they turned to look at their leader.
Bluestar’s gaze moved across the crowd of cats, and settled finally on Spottedleaf’s body. The first drops of rain began to fall, sparkling like dewdrops on the medicine cat’s still-glossy fur.
Bluestar blinked slowly. Grief clouded her face, and for a moment Firepaw was afraid that this new death would overwhelm her. But when her eyes opened they glittered with a fierceness that showed her determination to seek revenge for this cruel attack. She lifted her head. “If Yellowfang has killed Spottedleaf and stolen Frostfur’s kits, she will be hunted down without mercy.” The crowd meowed approvingly. “But we must wait,” Bluestar went on. “There is a storm coming, and I am not prepared to risk more lives. If ShadowClan has our kits, they will come to no immediate harm. I suspect Brokenstar wants them as recruits for his own Clan, or as hostages—to force us to let him hunt in our territory. As soon as the storm has passed, a patrol will follow Yellowfang and bring back our kits.”
“We cannot waste time, or the scent will be lost in the rain!” Tigerclaw protested.
Bluestar flicked her tail impatiently. “If we send out a hunting party now, our efforts will be wasted anyway. In this weather the scent will already be lost by the time we are ready. If we wait until after the storm, we stand a better chance of success.”