Bluestar's Prophecy (7 page)

“Next time,” Moonflower advised. “Once you know what to do.”

What to do?
Alarm shot through Bluepaw. Was she supposed to
do
something?

“I mean”—Moonflower gazed back sympathetically—“how to behave.”

“How
should
I behave?”

“The Gathering is held under a truce. For the night of the full moon we are one Clan, so long as Silverpelt shines.
But…” Moonflower paused, as though weighing her words carefully. “Never forget that the truce ends.”

Bluepaw tipped her head on one side.

“Tomorrow we will be rivals again,” Moonflower explained. “Don’t say anything that might weaken your Clan, and don’t make friends with cats you may one day face in battle.”

Bluepaw nodded eagerly. She couldn’t even imagine speaking to a cat from another Clan, let alone making friends.

The lichen swished at the entrance to Pinestar’s den. Sunfall, who had been sitting outside, got to his paws as the ThunderClan leader padded out.

“All ready?” Pinestar asked him.

Sunfall glanced at the cats gathered by the entrance and nodded.

“Come on, then.” Pinestar headed across the clearing, head high, as his Clanmates parted to let him through.

“Will you challenge WindClan about the stealing?” Adderfang’s mew silenced the Clan.

Pinestar paused and gazed around his warriors. “I will mention that we found blood and warn all the Clans that prey inside our borders belongs to ThunderClan.”

Windflight and Swiftbreeze nodded in agreement, but Adderfang narrowed his eyes.

Pinestar glared at the mottled tabby. “I
won’t
accuse WindClan.” His mew was firm, and Adderfang did not reply as Pinestar marched past him and headed out of camp.

Bluepaw stood staring as her Clanmates began to stream through the tunnel.

“Come on, little one.” Moonflower nudged her forward. “You’ll be fine.”

“Remember everything so you can tell me all about it!” Snowpaw called as Bluepaw followed her mother to the entrance. “I’ll stay awake till you get back.”

“
Well?” Snowpaw danced around Bluepaw, who
padded wearily toward the apprentices’ den. Her paws ached from the journey. The warriors had run so fast, taking no account of her size, and she’d had to scramble over fallen trees and through ditches that they took in one stride.

“Who was there?”

“I don’t know!” Irritation pricked Bluepaw’s pelt. “Lots of cats.” She didn’t want to admit that she’d stuck so close to Moonflower, she’d hardly looked at the other Clans. Even when Stonepelt had introduced her to a RiverClan cat, she’d been so tongue-tied that thinking of it now made her pelt burn with embarrassment. The Gathering had been big and noisy, crowded with strange scents and a babble of chatter and too many eyes studying her curiously. She couldn’t even remember what Fourtrees looked like—all she had seen were cats of every shape and color, jostling around her. There had been a huge rock, even bigger than Highrock, where the leaders had stood to address the Clans, but with furry flanks pressed on either side of her it had been almost impossible to hear them.

“Did Pinestar mention the stealing? How did WindClan
react?” Snowpaw bobbed up and down in front of her.

Bluepaw stared at her, exhausted. She just wanted to curl up in her nest and sleep. “Yes, he said something, but I don’t know how WindClan reacted because I don’t know who the WindClan cats were!” she snapped. “Satisfied?”

Snowpaw gazed at her, eyes darkening with worry. “Didn’t you enjoy it at all?”

Bluepaw sighed. “Two days ago, I was a kit. I might still be a kit if Pinestar hadn’t suddenly decided to make us apprentices.” She felt a pricking in her heart, like a nagging voice she couldn’t quite hear. “Everything seems to be happening so fast. I wouldn’t even be able to find my way back to Fourtrees in daylight.” She realized that Snowpaw was staring at her in dismay. Bluepaw felt a stab of guilt—it had been an honor to be taken to the Gathering, and she shouldn’t be complaining.

“It’ll be much more fun when you come, too,” she told Snowpaw. “Ask Sparrowpelt if you can come next moon.” Feeling her eyes start to close, Bluepaw padded past her sister and pushed through the ferns into the den. She curled into her nest, sighing with relief to feel the softness of moss against her tired limbs.

The sound of bracken crunching beside her ear woke Bluepaw. Snowpaw was stirring in her nest.

“What is it?” Bluepaw yawned.

“Go back to sleep,” Snowpaw whispered. “Sparrowpelt’s taking me hunting again so I can practice my stalking. Stonepelt said you could sleep for as long as you like.”

Bluepaw felt torn. She wanted to hunt, too, but her eyes still felt heavy with sleep. She closed them as Snowpaw crept out of the den.

When she opened her eyes again, the den was brighter; daylight sent a green glow through the fern walls. A nagging wind buffeted the fronds, and when Bluepaw stretched and slid out of the den, it tugged at her ears and whiskers. Leaves were skidding and tumbling across the clearing, fetching up in drifts against the gorse barrier. A thick cloud covering hid the sky. Shivering, Bluepaw padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Her squirrel was gone, and she felt a warm glow of satisfaction that she had helped feed her Clan.

Stonepelt was sheltering beside the nettle patch with Featherwhisker and Goosefeather, hunched against the wind.

“Am I supposed to hunt before I eat?” Bluepaw called to him.

Stonepelt shook his head. “You must be hungry after last night. Eat first, and then clear out the nursery.”

Bluepaw nodded and took a vole from the pile, carrying it to the mossy tree stump. There was no sign of Leopardpaw or Patchpaw; they must be out training. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of clearing out the kits’ stinky bedding, then pushed the thought from her mind so she could enjoy her meal.

As she swallowed the last mouthful, Featherwhisker padded toward her. “I’ve got some fresh bedding stored in the medicine clearing,” he told her. He sniffed the air. “There’s rain coming, so I collected some while it was still dry. Help
yourself when you need to refill the nests in the nursery.”

“Thank you.” Bluepaw ran a wet paw over her muzzle and got to her paws. “I’ll clear out the old stuff and then come get it.”

“Don’t worry,” Featherwhisker mewed. “I’ll bring it over.”

Bluepaw nodded gratefully and padded to the nursery. She hadn’t been back there since she’d moved to the apprentices’ den, and it felt familiar yet strange to be squeezing in through the entrance.

Speckletail was curled in her nest with Lionkit and Goldenkit, offering them a morsel of mouse.

“It’s chewy,” Goldenkit complained.

“I’ll eat your bit,” Lionkit offered.

“You’ve had plenty,” Speckletail chided. “If you want more, you can go out to the fresh-kill pile.”

“Really?” Lionkit’s ears pricked. “Can I choose anything I want?”

“Yes,” Speckletail answered, “but nothing too big.”

“I’ll go with him,” Thistlekit offered.

“Good idea.” Poppydawn pushed Sweetkit off her belly. The small, mottled tabby opened her mouth, eyes wide with complaint, but Poppydawn silenced her. “Why don’t you go outside and play, too?”

“Come on!” Thistlekit urged. “It’ll be fun! You too, Rosekit!”

Rosekit was playing with a moss ball at the edge of the den, lying on her back as she flicked it into the air and caught it. “But it’s cold and windy outside,” she grumbled. “When
Featherwhisker brought the mouse, he said rain’s coming.”

“All the more reason to get some exercise before it does,” Poppydawn advised.

Bluepaw let out a small meow to let them know she was there.

“Hello, Bluepaw!” Poppydawn broke into a purr. “I didn’t see you come in. I hear you made a great catch yesterday. Weedwhisker was certainly pleased to have such a big meal.”

“I was just lucky,” Bluepaw replied, trying to be modest.

“I’m sure it was more than luck,” Poppydawn meowed.

Bluepaw shrugged, secretly pleased that her old denmates had heard about the squirrel. “I’ve come to clean out the den.”

“There!” Speckletail meowed, whisking Lionkit and Goldenkit out of the nest with her tail. “It’s time you all went outside and got some fresh air. Bluepaw will need room.”

Rosekit stopped playing with her moss ball and sat up. “But what if it rains?”

“It’s too chilly to go out,” Goldenkit wailed.

“It’s okay, I can work around you,” Bluepaw offered.

“No,” Poppydawn meowed firmly. “True warriors don’t hide from the weather.”

“Exactly,” Thistlekit agreed. “Come on, you two.” He padded around the den, nudging each of the other kits toward the entrance. “I’ll make sure the wind doesn’t blow you away.”

Lionkit was already outside when the others, muttering complaints, let themselves be herded from the den.

Poppydawn rolled onto her back and stretched. “You must
be tired after the Gathering.” She yawned.

“How was it?” Speckletail asked.

Bluepaw didn’t dare say that the whole event had gone past in a blur. “It was great.” She began plucking old straws and strands of bracken from the edge of Speckletail’s nest.

Speckletail climbed out of the way. “What did Pinestar say about WindClan’s thieving?”

Bluepaw tensed. She really couldn’t remember! If only Featherwhisker had told them about the Gathering when he’d told them about the rain.

As luck would have it, the pale silvery tom scraped through the bramble entrance just then with two bundles of moss. Featherwhisker dropped the moss by his front paws. “Pinestar told the Clans that there had been evidence of hunting inside our border and warned that any intruders will be sent away with more than just sharp words,” he explained to the queens.

Thank you, StarClan
! Bluepaw decided her warrior ancestors must have taken pity on her.

“Did he mention WindClan?” Poppydawn wondered.

“Not out loud, but he was looking at Heatherstar as he spoke,” Featherwhisker replied.

In a flash, Bluepaw recalled the WindClan leader. Heatherstar had been sitting on the Great Rock with the other Clan leaders, her pale pelt tinged rose even in the silver moonlight, her blue eyes blazing as she returned Pinestar’s gaze.

“I bet she didn’t like that,” Speckletail commented.

“She didn’t reply,” Featherwhisker mewed darkly.

“Let’s hope Pinestar’s words were enough to warn them off.” Poppydawn sighed. “A battle so close to leaf-bare will do no cat any good. We need to conserve our strength for the cold moons ahead.”

Speckletail nodded. “We should be concentrating on fighting hunger, especially with so many kits in the nursery.”

Bluepaw looked up from her work. “Do you think WindClan
was
stealing from us?”

“They’ve done it before,” Poppydawn meowed.

Featherwhisker was spreading moss flat with his muzzle. “Let’s hope they don’t do it again.”

“Bluepaw! Bluepaw!” Snowpaw’s mew came from the clearing outside. She sounded excited.

Bluepaw glanced at Featherwhisker, wondering if he’d mind if she left him for a moment.

“Go on,” he mewed. “I’ll manage here.”

Quick as a mouse, Bluepaw turned and slid out of the den.

Snowpaw was sitting proudly by the fresh-kill pile with the wind tugging her long fur. A vole lay at her paws. “My first catch!” she called as Bluepaw raced to join her.

Bluepaw sniffed the vole. It smelled fresh and warm, and it made her mouth water. “My favorite!”

Goosefeather, crouching by the nettle patch, got to his paws and wandered over. “You are
both
good hunters,” he meowed approvingly. But when he glanced down to admire the vole, he froze and his tail bushed out as his eyes grew wide as an owl’s.

“StarClan save us!” he yowled.

Bluepaw peered at the vole. What was wrong with it?

Goosefeather was shaking from nose to tail-tip. “It’s a sign!” he wailed, his mew ringing around the camp. “Destruction for us all!”

“
What’s happening?” Pinestar was at the
medicine cat’s side in an instant, Sunfall at his heels.

Adderfang and Stormfur, sharing a thrush beneath Highrock, swung their broad heads to stare at Goosefeather. Speckletail slipped from the nursery entrance, her gaze darting anxiously around the clearing till it rested on the kits. Thistlekit was charging toward the fresh-kill pile with his denmates clustered behind. Fuzzypelt and Robinwing slid out from the warriors’ den and hurried after Stonepelt and Dappletail.

“Look at the vole’s fur,” Goosefeather breathed, his eyes still fixed on the small scrap of prey.

Bluepaw, suddenly crowded out by her Clanmates, slipped between legs and under bellies to see the vole. Goosefeather was running a paw across its flank.

“Look,” the medicine cat hissed. “See how the fur’s parted along here.” With a claw he pointed to the distinct line that ran from the vole’s shoulder to its belly. On one side of the line, the fur bristled toward the ear; on the other, it splayed smooth toward the tail. “See how it appears flattened here?” Goosefeather paused and looked around at his audience.

Adderfang and Stormtail padded closer.

“I can’t see!” Thistlekit bobbed up and down behind Speckletail.

“Hush!” Speckletail ordered, sweeping him back with her tail.

“But what does it mean?” Pinestar demanded.

“It’s like a forest flattened by wind,” Goosefeather growled. “This is how we will be crushed by WindClan.”

Speckletail backed away and folded her tail around Lionkit and Goldenkit, but Lionkit wriggled free and padded boldly toward the vole. “How can a dumb bit of fresh-kill tell you all that?”

“Yes.” Smallear leaned forward. “How can you be sure?”

“He’s a medicine cat!” Adderfang snapped. “He shares tongues with StarClan!”

“The prey-stealing was just the beginning,” Goosefeather went on. “This sign was sent from StarClan as a warning. Like a storm, WindClan will rage through the forest. They will destroy us, tear up our camp, and make ThunderClan territory a wasteland. We will be clawed down like grass in a meadow.”

Moonflower nosed in beside Bluepaw. “That’s impossible!” she meowed.

For all the defiance in her mew, Bluepaw could feel her mother trembling. Around the clearing, she could see some of her Clanmates exchanging doubtful glances, and behind her she heard Swiftbreeze whisper, “We’re not going to take this seriously, are we?”

Why not?
Bluepaw wondered.
Has Goosefeather been wrong before?

Goosefeather dipped his head. “StarClan has spoken.”

Pinestar was staring at the vole. “When?” he rasped.

Goosefeather blinked. “I can’t tell. But the sign has been sent now to give us time to prepare.”

“Then we must prepare!” Stormtail yowled, lashing his tail.

“There’s no time!” Sparrowpelt barged forward and hooked the vole up with one claw, holding it for all the Clan to see. “We must attack first!”

Adderfang and Stormtail yowled in agreement.

Dappletail clawed the ground. “WindClan doesn’t know we’ve been warned. We have the advantage. We must use it!”

Pinestar took the vole from Sparrowpelt and laid it back on the ground. “There are cold moons ahead,” he meowed slowly, “and kits to be fed.” He gazed around at his Clan. “Can we really risk fighting and injury when we should be strengthening the Clan for leaf-bare?”

“Can we risk
not
fighting?” Sparrowpelt hissed. “StarClan has warned us that there may be no Clan to strengthen if we don’t act!”

Robinwing padded forward, her dusky brown pelt bristling. “Should we really attack on nothing more than a lingering scent and some flattened fur?”

There was a gasp from some of her Clanmates. Thrushpelt whispered, “You can’t challenge the medicine cat like that!”

Bluepaw glanced at him; she wasn’t sure if he’d meant anyone to hear.

Pinestar eyed the vole, then stared at Goosefeather.
“Are you sure?” he demanded.

Goosefeather held his gaze. “Have you ever seen such markings on a piece of fresh-kill?”

Adderfang’s tail quivered. “Is it Goosefeather you doubt, or StarClan?” he challenged.

“If we can’t trust StarClan, then we are lost,” Dappletail muttered.

Bluepaw saw anguish darken Pinestar’s gaze. She had a sudden, painful understanding of the decision that lay in his paws. Attack WindClan and risk death and injury to his Clan. Delay, and risk being wiped out. And all hung on the meaning in a dead vole’s pelt and Pinestar’s faith in Goosefeather.

Stormtail began to pace. “Why are you hesitating? The decision is easy! You are choosing between survival and destruction!”

Sunfall paced in front of his leader. “But who knows which action will cause destruction and which survival?”

“I think StarClan has made that clear,” Sparrowpelt growled.

Bluepaw could see Pinestar’s gaze darting around his Clan, glittering with unease. Adderfang and Stormtail had wanted to fight from the start. And now they had the backing of StarClan. How could Pinestar refuse? What would happen if he did? How could he lead ThunderClan without the respect of his warriors?

Pinestar dipped his head. “We’ll attack WindClan at dawn.”

Murmurs of approval swept through the warriors closest
to the leader; at the edge of the clearing, elders and she-cats muttered darkly.

Speckletail stared in dismay at the vole, pressing Goldenkit against her. “It’s okay,” she whispered, pressing her muzzle against her daughter’s soft head. “You’ll be safe in the nursery.” Her gaze lifted to meet Smallear’s, and a flash of fear passed between them that made Bluepaw’s pelt bristle.

Moonflower tensed beside her. “Will
all
the apprentices have to fight?”

Bluepaw’s heart quickened. Would this be her first battle?

“All
must
fight when we face this much danger!” Adderfang meowed.

Pinestar turned to Robinwing. “Is Leopardpaw ready for battle?”

Robinwing nodded reluctantly.

“Then she will be part of the battle party.” Pinestar’s gaze flicked to Fuzzypelt. “You and Patchpaw will remain behind with Windflight and Tawnyspots to defend the camp in case WindClan counterattacks.”

Patchpaw began to object. “But I want to—”

“We’ll defend the camp with our lives if necessary,” Fuzzypelt cut him off.

“What about Snowpaw and Bluepaw?” Moonflower demanded, a tremor in her mew.

Pinestar blinked. “I would never send an apprentice into battle with so little training,” he assured her.

“I want to fight!” Snowpaw slid out from the crowd, her ears pricked.

“No, Snowpaw.” Pinestar shook his head. “You won’t fight. But you will have a taste of battle.”

Snowpaw’s eyes lit up.

Bluepaw felt her mother stiffen as the ThunderClan leader went on. “You and Bluepaw will go with the raiding party, but not to fight. You’ll wait where it’s safe, ready to carry messages or help with the wounded.”

“Is that all?” Snowpaw’s tail drooped.

“That’s plenty!” Bluepaw nosed her way to her sister’s side. “We’ll do our best,” she promised Pinestar. “Even if we can’t fight.”

Murmurs of approval rippled through the Clan.

“Imagine! Such a big message from a small scrap of fur.” Snowpaw shook her head. “Goosefeather must be
so
clever to see it.”

Goosefeather had picked up the vole and was carrying it away through the fern tunnel. As Bluepaw watched the shadows swallow him, the wind plucked her fur and she shivered.
I hope he’s right, for all our sakes
.

Wind buffeted the camp as evening fell. The dusk patrol went out as usual, just as hunting parties had come and gone during the afternoon, restocking the fresh-kill pile as though nothing had changed. Yet a solemn quietness had fallen over the camp.

Bluepaw washed her paws beside the nursery. They were sore after an afternoon helping Robinwing and Stonepelt reinforce the walls, weaving extra brambles into the tangle of
stems and branches. She glanced at the sky. Why hadn’t the rain come? The clouds were as gray as a squirrel’s pelt, but they seemed reluctant to give up their load.

Yet Featherwhisker had promised rain, and Bluepaw couldn’t help but believe the young medicine cat apprentice. He’d been busy all afternoon, slipping in and out of camp, returning each time with a new bundle of herbs. He was padding across the clearing now, his silver pelt sleek in the twilight.

She hurried to meet him, catching up to him as he reached the fern tunnel. “Where’s the rain?”

He dropped his bundle and turned his bright amber gaze on her. “It’ll come when it’s ready,” he told her.

“Before the battle?”

“I don’t know.” He bent down, ready to pick up his herbs.

“What are they for?” Bluepaw was reluctant to let him go, reassured by his calm presence.

“These will give our warriors strength,” he told her. “Each cat will eat some before the battle.”

“Do you have anything for bravery?”

Featherwhisker brushed his tail along her spine. “Bravery will come from your heart,” he promised. “You were born a warrior, and StarClan will be with you.”

He was right! She
would
be brave.

“Have you eaten?” Featherwhisker asked. Around the clearing, the Clan were settling down in knots, sharing prey and tongues.

“I’m not hungry,” Bluepaw answered.

“Eat anyway,” Featherwhisker advised. “Your Clan needs you to be strong.”

“Okay.” Bluepaw nodded, and she turned toward the fresh-kill pile. She chose a sparrow and carried it to where her denmates lay beside the mossy tree stump.

Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were absorbed in eating. Snowpaw was staring blankly at a mouse, newly caught and still soft and fragrant.

“Not hungry?” Bluepaw mewed.

“Not very.” Snowpaw looked up, trying to look bright but failing miserably.

“Neither am I.” Bluepaw tossed her sparrow onto the ground and sat down. “But Featherwhisker says we need to eat so we are strong.”

Behind them, the den of ferns swished in the wind.

Leopardpaw looked up, her mouth full. “I don’t know what you’re worrying about,” she mumbled. “You won’t even be fighting.”

Bluepaw stared at her, round-eyed. “Aren’t you scared?”

“I know every battle move there is,” the black apprentice boasted. “No WindClan cat’s going to beat me.”

Patchpaw looked less sure. “I’ve been practicing my attack moves all day,” he mewed. “I just hope I can remember my defensive ones as well.”

“You’ll remember,” Leopardpaw reassured him. “Besides, we won’t let WindClan make it as far as here. The most trouble you’ll have is keeping Thistlekit quiet.” She purred. “That might take a battle move or two.”

Bluepaw was suddenly very aware that she knew no battle moves at all. Perhaps she should learn one, just in case. She watched Stormtail on the far side of the clearing showing Dappletail how to roll and then jump with her forepaws extended in a vicious attack.

“Remember,” he was telling her, “keep your claws sheathed until the leap.”

Dappletail tried the move again, sitting up afterward and looking pleased.

“Good.” Stormtail nodded. “But you need to be faster. We’re bigger and heavier than WindClan cats, but they are nimble and will take advantage of any slowness.”

I could ask Stormtail to teach me a few battle moves, just in case
. But the gray warrior looked too busy with a real warrior. Bluepaw sighed and nudged her sparrow with her nose, working herself up to take a bite even though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow it.

“Not hungry?”

Pinestar’s mew made her jump.

He stood at the tree stump and looked over the apprentices. “A good meal tonight will mean a good battle tomorrow.”

Bluepaw lowered her gaze. What kind of warrior was too scared to eat on the eve of a battle?

Pinestar’s eyes glowed in the half-light. “I remember my first battle,” he meowed. “Sweetbriar insisted I eat a shrew, but I hid it when her back was turned and then told her it was delicious.”

“Really?” Bluepaw couldn’t decide what startled her more: that the ThunderClan leader had ever been afraid or
that he had lied to his mother.

“Really,” he purred. “She didn’t believe me, of course. All cats fear their first battle.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to eat?” Bluepaw mewed hopefully.

“Not if you don’t want to.” Pinestar flicked his tail. “It’s natural to be nervous. Only a mouse-brain would rush into battle without fear.” Was he glancing at Adderfang as he spoke? “But remember: You are ThunderClan cats, natural-born warriors. Trust your instincts. And we’ll be fighting Clan cats, not loners or rogues. They won’t go out of their way to harm youngsters like you.”

Snowpaw stood up, fluffing out her fur. “We don’t need special treatment.”

Pinestar’s whiskers twitched. “And you won’t get any,” he assured her. “I’m relying on you two to stay alert and do exactly as you’re told, as
soon
as you’re told. Lives may depend on how quickly you act.”

Bluepaw’s heart began to pound again.

“But,” Pinestar went on, “I know you’ll do your best and StarClan will guide your paws.” He glanced at Leopardpaw and Patchpaw. “All of you.”

Before they could answer he padded away, stopping beside Speckletail. The pale tabby sat hunched outside the nursery with Poppydawn while their kits tumbled around them. The Clan’s youngest members seemed to be the only cats unmoved by the looming battle. If anything, they were noisier than ever.

“If I were fighting tomorrow,” Thistlekit declared, “I’d get
a WindClan warrior like this.” He hooked up the shrew he’d been eating. “And shred it.” He tossed the half-eaten fresh-kill to the ground and pounced on it, claws unsheathed.

“Don’t play with your food,” Poppydawn scolded. “It’s disrespectful. That shrew died so that we may live.”

Thistlekit sat up, looking annoyed. “You just don’t want me to become a warrior! You want to make me stay a kit forever!”

Pinestar cuffed him playfully around the ear. “I doubt she’d be able to,” he purred.

Thistlekit looked up at the ThunderClan leader. “Can I come to the battle?”