Bluestar's Prophecy (29 page)

“
StarClan honors you for your wisdom
and your loyalty. I name you Whitestorm.”

As Sunstar pressed his muzzle to the white warrior’s head, the Clan broke into cheers. “Whitestorm! Whitestorm!”

Bluefur closed her eyes, relief washing over her like rain.
I kept my promise, Snowfur. I kept him safe.

Bluefur hadn’t been Whitestorm’s mentor after all. Sunstar had told her that he didn’t think kin were the best mentors for kin, especially as Bluefur had basically mothered Whitestorm since Snowfur’s death. Instead he had given Bluefur Frostpaw as an apprentice a few moons later, and Patchpelt had trained Whitestorm, a choice Bluefur approved of. Whitestorm had trained alongside Tigerclaw, and Bluefur was pleased to have a wise and gentle mentor around to temper Thistleclaw’s brutal practices. She had involved herself whenever she could in Whitestorm’s training, which hadn’t been easy with Thistleclaw glowering at her whenever she tried to guide the young tom.

She opened her eyes, basking in the warmth of the cheers that welcomed Whitestorm to the Clan. He had grown strong
and handsome, and he stood now with his chin high and his eyes bright, thick snowy fur dazzling in the leaf-fall sun. It had rained in the night, and the forest sparkled with silvery drops, reflecting rainbows through the trees.

Four seasons had passed since Bluefur had promised her sister in her dream of the gorge that she’d help raise the young tom, seasons that had brought change to the whole Clan. Redpaw, Willowpaw, and Spottedpaw had moved to the apprentices’ den, though Spottedpaw spent every spare moment shadowing Featherwhisker, fascinated by how much he knew about cures and herbs. Mumblefoot and Weedwhisker had died peacefully, and were still missed by their Clanmates. Fuzzypelt and Windflight had joined Stonepelt, Larksong, and Poppydawn in the elders’ den. White-eye had moved to the nursery, expecting her first kits. She was anxious about raising a litter through leaf-bare, but the Clan was strong and hopeful, and Bluefur knew that they would protect the kits however harsh the season.

Thistleclaw had established himself as a senior warrior, taking a nest near the center of the warriors’ den. Tigerclaw had been a warrior for four moons and had already claimed a nest close to Thistleclaw’s, shunning the outer den. No warrior had challenged him, though Bluefur wasn’t sure whether that was because his denmates respected the fierce, dark tabby and his former mentor—or feared them. Thistleclaw had become like a father to the dark tabby in Pinestar’s absence; he had trained him to win at any cost, defending his methods as part of the warrior code, though Bluefur saw no honor in
the way Thistleclaw fought for his Clan.

Tigerclaw watched Whitestorm now; the new warrior’s eyes glittered as he padded over to Bluefur and dipped his head to her.

“Thank you.” The white tom’s mew had grown deep. “You have given me so much.”

Bluefur’s heart swelled.
I won’t let anything hurt you, ever
.

“Your mother would be proud of you,” Bluefur murmured, her mew catching in her throat.

“I know,” Whitestorm purred. “She’d be proud of you, too.”

Bluefur’s gaze clouded as she reached up and licked a stray tuft of fur on the warrior’s shoulder. She noticed with a pang the scar behind his ear. Tigerclaw had done that when he unsheathed his claws during a training session, when both cats were still apprentices. Bluefur had blamed Thistleclaw.

“If you taught Tigerclaw respect for his Clanmates, it would never have happened,” she had told him.

Thistleclaw had curled his lip. “His Clanmates must
earn
his respect.”

“But Whitestorm will be scarred for life!”

“It’ll teach him to react more quickly next time.”

Bluefur had stalked away fuming. She was furious at the way Thistleclaw had seemed to pitch the apprentices against one another, again and again. Seeing the scar now, she still had to push away a bolt of anger.
What’s done is done
, she told herself. Perhaps Thistleclaw’s ruthlessness
had
made Whitestorm a better fighter.

“Whitestorm!” Lionheart and Goldenflower were calling to him.

Whitestorm pressed his muzzle to Bluefur’s cheek and hurried away.

Larksong!
Bluefur remembered that she’d promised to tell the old she-cat about the naming ceremony. She had been too frail to leave her nest. Padding to the fresh-kill pile, she picked a juicy mouse from the top and pushed through the branches of the fallen tree.

Larksong was curled in her nest with her nose on her paws and her eyes closed. Her tortoiseshell pelt, once so pretty, was now dull and ragged, but the old she-cat never lost her humor, even after her denmates Weedwhisker and Mumblefoot had died.

“At least I’ll get a few moons’ peace from their bickering before I join them in StarClan,” she had joked.

Not wanting to wake her, Bluefur laid the mouse beside her nest and began to creep out of the den.

Larksong lifted her head. “Did it go well?”

Bluefur turned. “Wonderfully. Whitestorm is a warrior now.”

“A good name for a strong warrior,” Larksong commented. She sniffed at the mouse and sat up, stretching. “You’ll miss him.”

“What?” Bluefur was unnerved by the solemn look in the old she-cat’s eyes.

“Whitestorm.”

“He’s not going anywhere. In fact he’ll be closer now that
we’ll be sharing the same den.”

“But he won’t need you as much.”

Bluefur felt a pang. It was true. “I still have Frostpaw to train,” she pointed out.

“Training an apprentice is not the same as raising a kit.”

Bluefur blinked as Larksong went on. “You gave up everything for Snowfur’s kit. Look around you: Your Clanmates have mates, kits—lives of their own, beyond being a mentor.”

“There’s nothing more important than training warriors!” Bluefur protested.

Larksong gazed at her. “Really?”

Bluefur shifted her paws.

“You’ve fulfilled your promise to Snowfur,” Larksong mewed softly. “You need to live your own life now, Bluefur, before you wake up and realize that you’re as empty as a beech husk.”

Is that how the old she-cat really saw life? Surely there were things to offer the Clan other than kits! Bluefur was proud of what she’d done for Whitestorm, what she was doing with Frostpaw. Her apprentice was going to make a fine warrior.
My life isn’t empty!
She started to back out of the den. Was this really how her Clanmates saw her?

Larksong prodded the mouse and, without looking up, rasped, “Maybe Thrushpelt has waited long enough.”

Bluefur scooted from the den without replying. Was Larksong telling her to take Thrushpelt as a mate? She shook her head, baffled.

“Bluefur!” Tawnyspots was calling her from beneath Highrock. “You can join Lionheart’s hunting patrol!”

Lionheart and Goldenflower were pacing the clearing, while Thrushpelt sat nearby, plucking absently at the ground. Bluefur nodded to Tawnyspots. The ThunderClan deputy was growing thin again, his eyes tired. The sickness that had dogged him last leaf-bare seemed to be returning. The Clan cats might need a new deputy sooner than they thought.

And if that happens, I need to be ready. Having a mate would only distract me, take away my focus. It’s for the sake of my Clan!

“Ready?” Lionheart was staring at her, his yellow eyes bright.

Bluefur nodded and followed the golden warrior as he led Goldenflower and Thrushpelt out of the camp. They headed for the river, the ground turning wet underpaw as they neared the shore. Wet ferns draped themselves over Bluefur’s pelt. The rain made prey-scent harder to detect.

“We should split up.” Lionheart halted and looked over his patrol. “We’ll have more chance of picking up scents if we cover a wider area.”

Bluefur nodded. As her Clanmates headed in different directions, she chose a path through the undergrowth onto wetter ground. Mud squelched between her claws as she picked up the scent of squirrel. With her heart quickening, she followed the trail, pulling up when Thrushpelt’s scent tainted the bushes. She didn’t want to steal his prey, so she doubled back, heading closer to the river.

Something hopped between the clumps of marsh grass.
Pricking her ears, Bluefur dropped into a crouch. A small moorhen was flitting low along the ground, stopping to peck at roots and snuffle for food in the mud. Water seeped up and soaked her belly as Bluefur crept forward. The bird hadn’t seen her. It was too busy rooting around in the marsh grass.

Bluefur sprang and grasped it with unsheathed claws. It fluttered for a moment in her paws, then fell still as she nipped its neck. It would make a tasty treat for White-eye.

“Good catch!”

A deep mew made her jump. Someone had called from the other side of the river. She spun around, the moorhen dangling from her jaws.

Oakheart!

The RiverClan tom was watching her from the far shore.

Bluefur dropped her catch and glared at him. “Are you spying on me?”

“No.” Oakheart looked mildly amused. “I’m allowed to patrol my own territory, you know.”

Lionheart’s call sounded from farther up the bank. “Bluefur!”

“I have to go,” she told Oakheart.

He stared at her, his amber gaze unwavering. “Okay.”

She headed away with her prey, reluctant to leave. Walking away from the RiverClan tom left a hard, hollow feeling in her belly.

He’s RiverClan
, she reminded herself sharply.

Her Clanmates were waiting, each with prey.

“Were you talking to someone?” Lionheart asked her.

Bluefur dropped her catch. “Just to myself,” she meowed quickly.

Thrushpelt glanced admiringly at the moorhen. “Nice catch,” he purred.

“Thanks.” Bluefur didn’t meet his gaze. Somehow the ThunderClan warrior’s praise didn’t spark the same thrill in her as Oakheart’s had done.

“We need to take back Sunningrocks!”

Sunstar’s announcement from Highrock was greeted with cheers from his Clanmates below the Highrock.

“About time, too!” Adderfang called.

“They’ve ruled those rocks for too long,” Stormtail agreed.

Tigerclaw gouged deep scars in the ground with his long claws, his eyes fired with excitement.

He’s more interested in the battle than in winning Sunningrocks
, Bluefur guessed.

A light drizzle had fallen steadily since she’d returned with her moorhen, and the Clan’s pelts clung, dripping, to their flanks as they listened to Sunstar.

“Leaf-bare is coming, and we have more warriors to feed. With kits on the way, too, we’ll need as much territory as possible to hunt.”

White-eye was watching from outside the nursery. Her mate, Sparrowpelt, lifted his muzzle. “When will we fight?”

Sunstar shook his head. “I want to take Sunningrocks without a battle,” he meowed.

Thistleclaw stared at the Clan leader as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“We can beat them easily,” Tigerclaw growled.

Sparrowpelt put his head on one side. “How do we take Sunningrocks without a battle?”

Robinwing lashed her tail. “RiverClan won’t just give it up because we ask.”

“They might,” Sunstar suggested.

Thistleclaw bristled. “You’re going to
ask
for Sunningrocks back?”

Tigerclaw curled his lip. “Or are you going to
beg?
”

Sunstar glared at the dark warrior. “ThunderClan never begs!” He unsheathed his claws.

Tigerclaw lowered his gaze.

“Why risk a battle we don’t need to fight?” Sunstar yowled. “ThunderClan is strong. We have some of the most skilled warriors in the forest.” He gazed around the Clan, his gaze lingering on Tigerclaw and then Whitestorm. “The other Clans know that. Do you think RiverClan will really want to fight over territory they don’t need? They use the rocks for basking in the sun, not for hunting prey. We will show them our warriors and persuade them that giving up Sunningrocks would be a wise decision for both Clans.”

Stormtail’s eyes lit with interest. “You mean take a patrol to their camp?” he guessed.

Sunstar nodded. “We’ll tell them that we own Sunningrocks, and that we’ll shred any RiverClan cat who dares set paw on it again.”

Dappletail blinked. “March into their camp and tell them that? It’ll be suicide.”

Tigerclaw growled, “Not if we send a strong enough patrol.” His amber eyes narrowed. “We go in peace but threaten war if they don’t cooperate.” He clearly approved of the plan. Bluefur pictured the broad-shouldered warrior standing in RiverClan’s camp; suddenly the nursery and the elders’ den would seem vulnerable. RiverClan would be likely to agree to anything.

“Then we’re agreed?” Sunstar glanced around the Clan.

Adderfang nodded. “It sounds like a good plan.”

“When word gets out that RiverClan gave up Sunningrocks without a fight, the other Clans will fear us all the more,” Thistleclaw added.

Bluefur’s tail flicked. She wasn’t so sure. There was something devious in the plan that pricked at her conscience. Perhaps she was just being oversensitive. Sunstar had come up with a way of avoiding a battle. That showed good leadership. But to threaten RiverClan in their camp? Elders and kits lived there. Hadn’t they learned from the attack on WindClan that camps were no place for a battle?

She shook the thought away. Sunstar would never let innocent cats be threatened.

She glanced at Thistleclaw.

He
might.

“Then it’s settled,” Sunstar decided. “I’ll lead the patrol. Featherwhisker, Tawnyspots, Lionheart, Whitestorm, Thrushpelt, Adderfang, Stormtail, and Bluefur. You will come with me.”

Thistleclaw blinked. “Not me?”

“You stay and guard the camp with Tigerclaw,” Sunstar told him. “With so many warriors out of camp, we’ll need to leave behind a strong patrol.”

Bluefur felt a glimmer of satisfaction. Without Thistleclaw’s menacing presence, ThunderClan’s proposition would be more likely to appear simple and fair.

The rain stopped as the patrol set out, but the forest was drenched and Bluefur’s pelt was quickly soaked all over again. She pushed through the wet undergrowth after her Clanmates. When they emerged from the forest and skirted Sunningrocks, following the riverbank to the stepping-stones, a cold wind swirled around them. Bluefur shivered as it tugged her fur, and the thought of crossing the river made her even colder. Sunstar led the way across the stepping-stones. Bluefur stiffened when she saw one of the small flat stones wobble beneath his paws.

Goldenflower and Lionheart followed, hopping nimbly over the stones. Bluefur stood back to let the others push past her. Then she was alone on the shore with Thrushpelt.

“You can go first,” he offered.

Bluefur stared at the line of stones and the dark water swirling around them. She padded forward on shaking paws. Goosefeather’s prophecy rang in her ears as she paused at the water’s edge:
Even the most powerful flames can be destroyed by water
.

“Go on,” Thrushpelt urged.

“Wait!” Bluefur’s paws felt like lumps of wood.

“We have to stay with the patrol,” Thrushpelt warned.

Bluefur pushed herself forward, springing onto the first stone. Water splashed and gurgled around her. The blood roared in her ears.

Stupid Goosefeather!

She leaped to the next stone, swaying for a heart-stopping moment before she found her balance and gathered her haunches to jump again.

Stupid prophecy!

And again.

It’s probably not even true.

The final stone wobbled as she landed, and water washed over her paws.

Don’t let me drown!

She flung herself to the shore, panting.

Thrushpelt landed beside her a moment later. “That was easy,” he chirped. “I don’t know why RiverClan cats bother swimming.”

Bluefur marched away into the reeds.

The patrol had halted. As Bluefur caught up, she saw that RiverClan warriors were blocking their path, hackles up. From their dripping pelts, she guessed that they’d recently swum across the river. Did they really not prefer to use the stepping-stones? But even with their fur clinging to their bodies, the RiverClan warriors looked sleek and powerful.

Bluefur recognized Crookedjaw at the front of the patrol. Now RiverClan deputy, he had changed from the friendly young apprentice she’d met at his first Gathering. He still had
his upside-down mouth, but he held his head high as though he were defiant about his strange expression; there was no longer any hint of humor or apology about the way he looked. She wondered how Oakheart felt about his brother being made deputy.

Crookedjaw unsheathed his claws. “What are you doing on RiverClan land?”

“We want to talk with Hailstar,” Sunstar told him.

Ottersplash leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “About what?”

Sunstar narrowed his eyes. “You ask me to share words meant for your leader?”

Ottersplash snarled.

Crookedjaw waved the warrior back with his tail. “You expect me to lead you straight into our camp?” he countered. “We haven’t forgotten what you did to WindClan.”

“Do we look like a battle patrol?” Sunstar challenged.

Bluefur leaned close to Whitestorm, whose pelt was pricking. “Keep your fur flat,” she whispered, “or you’ll spook them.”

Crookedjaw ran his gaze over the soggy patrol and shook his head. “It would take more than this to overrun our camp,” he conceded.

“We wish only to share words,” Sunstar pressed.

Crookedjaw nodded, eyes like flints. “Follow.” He turned and headed away through the reeds.

Bluefur didn’t like the soft, wet peat squelching beneath her paws, or the openness of the marshland as they left the
cover of the riverside trees and headed deeper into RiverClan territory. The winding route took them through a maze of reed beds.

“It’s a wonder their claws don’t turn soft,” Thrushpelt whispered in her ear.

Suddenly Crookedjaw swerved to one side and squeezed through a woven wall of reeds.

The camp
.

Paws tingling, Bluefur followed as her Clanmates squeezed through the camp entrance. The marshy clearing was dotted with dens. Made of sticks, they looked like herons’ nests, spiky and awkward and not nearly as appealing as a scoop filled with moss and feathers.

“Why do they live in such uncomfortable-looking dens?” Lionheart murmured.

“They float if it floods,” Crookedjaw snapped, overhearing him. “Wait here.” He left the ThunderClan cats and ducked into one of the tangled dens.

RiverClan cats blinked from the edges of the clearing, staring in surprise at their visitors.

“Lilystem! Look!” A small gray kit yelped over its shoulder, and a pale tabby slid out of the den behind him. The queen looked at the visitors in dismay until Ottersplash reassured her.

“They say they’re here to talk to Hailstar.”

Lilystem nodded and wrapped her tail around her kit, staying outside to watch.

Two of RiverClan’s senior warriors, Timberfur and Owlfur,
prowled around the clearing, their eyes wary and their hackles up. Crookedjaw reappeared with Hailstar following. The RiverClan leader was round-eyed, his gaze curious. He did not speak but simply stared at Sunstar, waiting for the ThunderClan leader to speak.

Sunstar dipped his head. “Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan,” he declared. “We are taking them back.”

Hailstar unsheathed his claws. “You’ll have to fight for them,” he growled.

“We will if we have to,” Sunstar meowed. “But we thought we’d give you fair warning.”

Timberfur padded forward, pelt bristling. “Are you threatening us in our own camp?” He glanced at his Clanmates. Bluefur’s belly tightened. They were surrounded by RiverClan warriors. What if they decided to fight for Sunningrocks right then and there?

“We’re not threatening you,” Sunstar answered calmly. “We’re giving you a choice. If you keep off Sunningrocks, we’ll leave you alone. But any cat who sets paw there will be shredded.”

Hailstar stepped forward. “Do you really think we will give up the rocks so easily?”

“If you prefer a battle, then we’ll fight,” Sunstar meowed. “But are the rocks worth it?” He tipped his head to one side. “You have the river to fish. Your paws are too big to reach far into the cracks of Sunningrocks; your pelts are too clearly marked to stalk prey there. It is no use for hunting. So is it worth fighting for?” The ThunderClan leader made his proposition
seem so reasonable, Bluefur waited for Hailstar to agree.

But the RiverClan leader just stared, opening his mouth to scent the air. “I smell fear,” he snarled.

“Then it comes from your own warriors,” Sunstar countered.

“You actually expect us to give up Sunningrocks?” Hailstar hissed.

Sunstar shook his head. “I expect you to fight for them,” he meowed. “Even though you will waste warriors and blood. You will lose, and it will be thanks to your decision.”

Hailstar took a step toward the ThunderClan leader. “RiverClan warriors fight with claws, not words.”

“Very well.” Sunstar nodded. “Sunningrocks are ours. We will set the new markers tomorrow. After that, any RiverClan cat found there will face a fight that he will not win.” He gazed around the camp and raised his voice. “Let all RiverClan know that the warning has been given. Any blood spilled now will be on Hailstar’s paws.” He turned and headed for the entrance.

“Is that it?” Thrushpelt whispered.

“I think that was plenty!” Bluefur was impressed by her leader’s strategy. He’d openly dared RiverClan to fight, yet made it look like their choice. Now all they could do was wait and see how RiverClan reacted when they set the new markers. Would ThunderClan find an ambush waiting, or would RiverClan decide it wasn’t a battle worth fighting?

RiverClan growls followed them out of the camp.

Then paws pounded from the entrance.

Had RiverClan decided to fight after all? The ThunderClan patrol spun around, ready to defend themselves.

Ottersplash faced them, with Timberfur and Owlfur behind her. “We’ll escort you to the border,” she growled.

“Thank you.” Sunstar dipped his head.

“We’re only making sure you go back to your own territory,” Owlfur spat.

Bluefur’s pelt suddenly pricked. Someone was watching her. She turned to see Oakheart padding from a reed bed with a fish dangling in his jaws. He dropped it and stared at the cats. “What’s going on?”

“ThunderClan has been making threats,” Owlfur growled.

Oakheart’s gaze met Bluefur’s, alarmed. “Is there going to be a battle?”

Sunstar flicked his tail. “We were trying to avoid one.”

Owlfur stepped forward. “Go home,” he advised darkly.

“Very well.” Sunstar nodded and headed away through the rushes.

Oakheart tagged onto their escort and Bluefur was acutely aware of him—his scent, the sound of his paw steps—as he followed them along the twisting path to the stepping-stones. When Owlfur quickened his pace to take the lead, Oakheart fell in beside Bluefur.

“I must talk to you,” he hissed in her ear. “Make an excuse.” He dropped back with a flick of his fox-colored tail.

Bluefur twitched her ears. How could she get away from her patrol? Why
should
she? But the urgency in Oakheart’s
voice nagged at her. She had to know what he wanted.

“Ow!” She started to limp.

Thrushpelt whipped his head around. “Are you okay?”

“Thorn in my paw,” Bluefur complained. “I need to get it out.”

“I’ll help,” Thrushpelt offered.

Oakheart growled. “You keep with the others. I’ll help her.” He glared at Thrushpelt, who hesitated for a heartbeat before backing away.

“Don’t be long,” he called to Bluefur. “Or I’ll come back for you.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” Bluefur promised.

As soon as her Clanmates had disappeared around the corner with their RiverClan escort, Oakheart faced her. “Thanks,” he breathed. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” Bluefur was mystified. She shook her head, as though shaking would clear it. There was something about this warrior’s presence that made her feel dazed and fuzzyheaded.