Forest Of Secrets

Bluestar jerked her chin up defiantly. “Oh, yes. There was Thistleclaw. He was a fine warrior, strong and brave. But his answer to every problem was to fight. Should I have watched him be made deputy, and then leader, and let him force the Clan into unnecessary wars?” She shook her head sadly. “He died as he lived, Fireheart, a few seasons before you came to join us, attacking a RiverClan patrol on the border. Wild and arrogant to the last. I couldn’t stand by and let him destroy my Clan.”

“Did you give the kits to Oakheart yourself?”

“Yes. I spoke to him at a Gathering, and he agreed to take them. So one night I crept out of the camp and took them to the Sunningrocks. Oakheart was waiting, and he took two of them across the river.”

“Two of them?” Fireheart was startled. “You mean there were more than two?”

“There were three.” Bluestar bowed her head; her mew was scarcely audible. “The third kit was too weak to cope with the journey. He died with me, by the river.”

“What did you tell the rest of the Clan?” Fireheart thought back to the Gathering, when Patchpelt had said only that Bluestar had “lost” her kits.

“I…I made it look as if they had been taken from the nursery by a fox or a badger. I tore a hole in the nursery wall just before I left, and when I came back, I said that I had been hunting and had left my kits sleeping safely.” Her whole body trembled, and Fireheart could tell that confessing to this lie was causing Bluestar more pain than losing a life.

“Every cat searched,” she went on. “And I searched too, even though I knew there was no hope of finding them. The Clan was devastated for me.” She dropped her head onto her paws. Forgetting for a moment that she was his leader, Fireheart crossed the floor of the den and gave Bluestar’s ears a gentle lick.

Once again he remembered his dream, and the faceless queen who had faded away, leaving her kits to cry for her. He had thought the queen was Silverstream, but now he realized she was Bluestar as well. The dream had been both prophecy and Clan memory. “Why are you sharing this with me?” he asked.

When Bluestar looked up, Fireheart could hardly bear to see the sorrow in her eyes.

“For many seasons I put the kits out of my mind,” she answered. “I became deputy, and then leader, and my Clan needed me. But lately, with the floods, and the danger to RiverClan—and your discoveries, Fireheart, making me hear again what I knew very well already…And now another pair of kits who are half RiverClan, half ThunderClan. Perhaps this time I can make better decisions.”

“But why tell me?” Fireheart repeated.

“Perhaps after so long I want a cat to know the truth,” meowed Bluestar with a slight frown. “I think you of all cats might understand, Fireheart. Sometimes there are no right choices.”

But Fireheart was not sure that he understood at all. His mind was whirling. On one paw he could picture the young warrior, Bluefur, fiercely ambitious, determined to do the best for her Clan, even if it meant unimaginable sacrifices. On the other, he saw a mother grieving for the kits she had abandoned so long ago. And what was probably more real to him than either, the gifted leader who had done what she felt was best and borne the pain of it alone.

“I won’t tell another cat,” he promised, realizing how much she must trust him to have revealed her secrets to him like this.

“Thank you, Fireheart,” she replied. “There are difficult times ahead of us. The Clan doesn’t need more trouble.” She rose to her paws and stretched as if she had been curled up in a long sleep. “Now I must speak with Tigerclaw. And you, Fireheart, had better go and find your friend.”

The sun was beginning to sink, turning the river into a ribbon of reflected fire, as Fireheart returned to the Sunningrocks. Graystripe crouched beside a patch of freshly turned earth at the top of the riverbank, his gaze fixed on the blazing water.

“I buried her on the shore,” he whispered as Fireheart padded up and sat down beside him. “She loved the river.” He raised his head to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear. “She hunts with StarClan now,” he mewed softly. “Someday I’ll find her again, and we’ll be together.”

Fireheart was unable to speak. He pressed himself more closely to Graystripe’s side, and the two cats crouched there in silence as the bloodred light faded.

“Where did you take the kits?” Graystripe meowed at last. “They should have been buried with her.”

“Buried?” Fireheart echoed. “Graystripe, didn’t you know? The kits are alive.”

Graystripe stared at him, jaws gaping, his golden eyes beginning to glow. “They’re alive—Silverstream’s kits—my kits? Fireheart, where are they?”

“In the ThunderClan nursery.” Fireheart gave him a quick lick. “Goldenflower is suckling them.”

“But she won’t keep them—will she? Does she know they’re Silverstream’s?”