A Warrior's Spirit

by Erin Hunter

  Hawkfrost looked at her calmly, his eyes cold. He’d never looked at her quite that way before, and suddenly Mothwing was sure that Tigerstar, the father she’d never met, had looked at cats with that same clear, considering gaze, before he’d done the awful things he did. “Sometimes it takes a lie to keep another lie secret,” he meowed softly.

  Mothwing jerked back in shock. “You wouldn’t tell them, would you?”

  There was a long, silent pause. Then, without acknowledging her question, Hawkfrost asked, “What if StarClan sent you a dream? A dream about Stormfur and Brook.”

  As he outlined his plan, his long claws unsheathed and digging at the dirt of the medicine den’s floor, Mothwing couldn’t speak. She could only stare at him silently, her heart pounding. She felt scared, and terribly sad. What had happened to her littermate? When had he changed?

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Mothwing muttered. She licked angrily at the long scratches dug into Hawkfrost’s belly.

  “Ouch!” Hawkfrost protested, jerking away. “You’re supposed to be on my side. We belong with each other, remember?”

  “I am on your side,” Mothwing replied automatically, then stilled for a moment in her treatment of his wounds. Were she and Hawkfrost really allied now? Would he have threatened to expose her if they were? “I’m on RiverClan’s side,” she amended. “What good does it do the Clan for you to taunt Stormfur into attacking you? When Leopardstar made him and Brook leave, we lost good Clanmates.”

  “We got rid of a threat,” Hawkfrost corrected her. “And I couldn’t have done it without you. When you told the Gathering about that dream you made up—two pebbles out of place, stopping the river from flowing smoothly—it began to turn the Clan against them. If our Clanmates weren’t already wary of him, they might have seen my fight with Stormfur differently.”

  “I’m ashamed I made up that dream,” Mothwing hissed. “I wish I’d never done it.”

  “Is that why you didn’t back me up this time?” Hawkfrost asked, his voice chilling. “‘Sometimes a dream is just a dream,’” he mimicked in a squeaky meow. “You’re forgetting where your loyalties lie.”

  “My loyalties lie with RiverClan,” Mothwing told him. “And so should yours.”

  “They do.” Hawkfrost looked down at her with wide, startled eyes. “When I’m the leader of RiverClan, we’ll be the strongest Clan of all.” He began to purr. “You’ll be at my side as medicine cat. We’ll take over ShadowClan one day, too. And our brother Brambleclaw will be the leader of ThunderClan, and they’ll take over WindClan. All the cats of the forest, safe in our kin’s paws.”

  A cold shudder ran through Mothwing. “That’s not right,” she meowed. “There have to be four Clans.” Taking over the other Clans—wasn’t that what Tigerstar had wanted? Was her brother—along with her half brother; she knew Brambleclaw must be part of this plan—following in their father’s footsteps?

  “There have to be?” Hawkfrost asked, still purring. “Who says? StarClan? I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

  “No.” Mothwing’s tail drooped sadly. “I wish I did. But it’s still not right. Isn’t RiverClan enough?”

  Hawkfrost’s ears twitched. “Just keep your mouth shut and stick to giving out herbs,” he snapped. He leaned down and pressed his muzzle to hers. “I’ll take care of you. And you’ll see, RiverClan will thank us in the end. Our home will always be safe.”

  Hawkfrost’s wounds were clean. Instinctively, Mothwing reached for the marigold, to keep away infection. Who would be treating Stormfur’s wounds? She felt suddenly exhausted, the secrets and lies she was carrying weighing her down, pushing her into the mud of the stream banks. Her mouth was sour with guilt.

  Maybe RiverClan would be safer with Hawkfrost in the lead, the way he claimed. But she didn’t feel safe.

  Chapter 6

  “It was scary, but it was beautiful, too,” Willowpaw gushed, as she and Mothwing walked side by side up the path that led out of the Moonpool’s hollow. Mothwing glanced down affectionately at her young apprentice, whose green eyes were shining brightly with excitement.

  “You did very well,” she meowed. “How does it feel to be an official medicine-cat apprentice?” Mothwing had worried that somehow her secret would come out as she presented Willowpaw to StarClan for the first time. How was she going to guide her apprentice into having the right sort of dreams when she didn’t herself?

  But it seemed like everything had gone perfectly. Willowpaw had dreamed of StarClan, and if she thought it had been more than a dream, Mothwing wasn’t going to discourage her. And Leafpool had offered to guide the apprentice in all the parts of her training where Mothwing couldn’t: interpreting the dreams and signs the other medicine cats believed were sent by StarClan.

  Mothwing’s pelt prickled uneasily as she looked ahead to where she could see Leafpool’s silhouette leading them up the path. Had she been right to tell Leafpool the truth? She’d told her everything, from the false sign Hawkfrost had planted to how Hawkfrost had made her lie to turn the Clan against Stormfur. Guilt and horror churned inside her whenever she thought about it, and she’d half expected Leafpool to expose her to the other medicine cats and encourage RiverClan to drive her and Hawkfrost away.

  But Leafpool had been so kind. Mothwing wanted to trust her.

  Still, Mothwing was nervous. If Hawkfrost, Mothwing’s own littermate, could turn on her and use her secrets against her, so could any cat.

  As they reached the top of the path, Mothwing breathed in deep and let the cool night air caress and calm her until one thought became clear: What’s done is done.

  Leafpool had pointed out to her that Hawkfrost wouldn’t risk telling any cat that he had planted the moth-wing sign. No leader would make him deputy if they knew how he’d lied and cheated. He was as vulnerable as Mothwing was. But the thought wasn’t as comforting to Mothwing as it should have been. She wanted them both to be safe.

  A shadow fell across the hollow, and Mothwing looked up to see a cloud slipping across the moon. A proper medicine cat would read a message in that shadow, she thought, and shivered as a cold breeze blew through her pelt.

  Flipping her tail in farewell to Leafpool, and to Barkface and Littlecloud, who were already hurrying in the directions of their own territories, Mothwing turned her attention back to her apprentice as the half-moon reemerged from behind the cloud and they headed toward RiverClan’s camp.

  “I couldn’t tell you about my dream in front of the others, because Leafpool said we don’t tell other medicine cats about our dreams unless their Clans are involved,” Willowpaw mewed seriously, her green eyes lit by the moonlight.

  “What did you dream?” Mothwing asked. It was just a dream, no matter what Willowpaw and Leafpool believed, but even she could admit that the medicine cats’ dreams of StarClan often carried truths the medicine cats’ waking minds didn’t see. Maybe Willowpaw had seen something her mind hadn’t realized she’d noticed.

  “I was by the Moonpool, just like when I was awake,” Willowpaw explained. “But it was only me and Leafpool and this StarClan cat from ThunderClan, Spottedleaf. You and Barkface and Littlecloud weren’t there. I was looking into the Moonpool, and at first it just reflected the stars. But then storm clouds started gathering in the pool. And a cold wind blew so hard it almost blew me away.” Willowpaw shuddered, her thin shoulders hunching against the remembered storm, then looked up at Mothwing again. “What do you think it means?”

  I think it just means you’re worried about something. But that wasn’t what a medicine cat would say to her own apprentice. “Well,” she mewed slowly, brushing her tail across Willowpaw’s back, “what do you think it means?”

  “Maybe trouble is coming?” Willowpaw offered hesitantly. “And because only Leafpool and I saw it, it’s coming to ThunderClan and RiverClan, not to all the Clans?”

  “Could be,” Mothwing answered. They padded together around the lake toward RiverClan’s territory. As they went
, Mothwing kept thinking about Hawkfrost. It felt good to have told Leafpool the truth about what was happening, but that hadn’t helped her decide what she could do about her brother. He’s changed. He wants power now, not just to be a loyal warrior. That kind of thirst was bad for the Clan, she was sure of it. It was cooperation, cats working for the Clan instead of themselves, that made RiverClan strong.

  Hawkfrost used to know that. What had changed him? What was he going to do?

  As they reached the stream that marked the edge of RiverClan’s camp, the moonlight was quenched again, blotted out by another, larger cloud overhead. Its shadow fell across RiverClan’s camp, throwing it into darkness.

  Mothwing’s fur brushed Willowpaw’s, and she could feel her apprentice shiver.

  “Do you think it’s a sign?” Willowpaw asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mothwing answered slowly. I don’t need a sign to know that trouble is coming.

  The next day, Mothwing drilled Willowpaw on the uses of herbs. “What’s this?” she asked, shoving a fragrant leaf under the apprentice’s nose. She enjoyed teaching Willowpaw, passing on the skills that Mudfur had taught her. I can’t give her everything a medicine cat needs, but I’ll give her everything I know.

  Willowpaw sniffed. “Borage?” she guessed tentatively.

  “Very good,” Mothwing praised. “And what’s it for?”

  “We give it to new mothers to help bring their milk supply,” Willowpaw replied, more confidently.

  “And?”

  “Um.” Willowpaw nosed at the leaves again, thinking hard. “It can help bring down fevers,” she added at last.

  “Great!” Mothwing meowed. “Now what else—” She broke off at a commotion outside the thorny tunnel into the medicine den.

  “Quick! Voletooth got stung by bees!” Blackclaw was supporting the small brown tom as they crossed into the den. Voletooth had clearly been stung badly; his face was already swelling up in several places, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. The tom whimpered softly.

  “Don’t worry, Voletooth, we’ll take care of you,” Mothwing reassured him. She lapped at the stings, hoping to sooth the pain a little, then looked at Willowpaw. “What do we need to do?” she asked, testing her apprentice’s memory.

  “What?” The apprentice froze for a moment, then answered hesitantly, “Blackberry leaves? Yes, blackberry leaves! We make a poultice and it’ll help the swelling and pain from the stings.”

  “Well done,” Mothwing told her, and returned to licking Voletooth’s stings.

  Voletooth grimaced. “I must have angered StarClan,” he groaned, staring plaintively at Mothwing. “Why else would so many bees come after me at once?”

  “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good—” Mothwing started. But Voletooth cut her off, his voice desperate.

  “Could you please tell them whatever it is I did to deserve this, I’m sorry?”

  Mothwing held his gaze. “That’s the pain talking. You’re being silly. And anyway, you can always tell them yourself, the same way you’d thank them after a good hunt.”

  Voletooth yowled. “Yes, but it would make me feel better if a cat who talks to StarClan directly could pass along my message. Please?”

  Mothwing suddenly felt like an uncertain apprentice again being put on the spot. She didn’t want to promise this injured cat she’d do anything that she couldn’t actually do. But neither did she wish to deny his request—even if it was silly.

  “I—I . . . ,” she began uncertainly. She looked up and found Willowpaw staring at her with wide eyes. She saw realization dawning there. She’s figured it out, thought Mothwing. She knows I can’t talk to StarClan.

  For a long moment, Mothwing worried that Willowpaw would reveal her secret out loud. But instead the young apprentice quickly approached Voletooth, licked at his stings once more, then whispered, “I’m sure StarClan isn’t angry with you, but I will tell them what you’ve said. Don’t worry. All will be well.” Once again, she glanced up at Mothwing, who could only nod gratefully.

  “Hurry now,” Mothwing urged, eager to move past the talk of StarClan. “The leaves.”

  Willowpaw did as she was told and rushed to find the leaves in their stores.

  “Oh, no!” she yelped after a moment, her meow edged with panic. “Mothwing, we’re almost out of blackberry leaves.”

  There were blackberries growing at the edge of the horseplace, Mothwing remembered. “I can get some more,” she meowed. “Blackclaw, come with me?” She could use the tom’s help to help her carry the leaves, and to warn off the cats from the horseplace if they came too close. Blackclaw nodded and helped Voletooth lie down in one of the medicine den’s nests.

  Willowpaw’s eyes widened, and she looked from Mothwing to Voletooth, whose whimpering was getting louder. “I could go instead?” she mewed, clearly reluctant to be left alone with the injured tom.

  “No,” Mothwing nudged Willowpaw reassuringly. “I know exactly where I can find the leaves. You take care of Voletooth.”

  Still looking nervous, Willowpaw dipped her head in acknowledgment and went to Voletooth, holding his head steady with one gentle paw. “We’ll have you feeling better soon,” she murmured, and began to lap at the stings.

  She’ll be fine, Mothwing thought. Willowpaw was a natural medicine cat, and her instincts were sharp. She knew when she had to offer something Mothwing could not, and she was kind enough to keep that to herself. All she lacked was confidence. It would be good for her to take care of Voletooth on her own. Maybe I’ll have her put the poultice on as well.

  “Let’s go.” She hurried toward the camp entrance, Blackclaw behind her, wondering how many leaves they’d be able to carry back with them. It would be good to have a store of them on hand—in greenleaf, there were a lot of bees buzzing around the lakeshore.

  Hawkfrost was sitting in front of the thicket that concealed the warriors’ den, his gaze passing thoughtfully over the cats in camp—the kits playing in front of the nursery, the warriors sharing prey, the apprentices gossiping at the edge of the clearing. They’d barely spoken since Mothwing had told him she would never lie for him again.

  Her paws slowed as she passed him, and she jerked her head into a quick dip of greeting. Hawkfrost merely looked at her, his icy blue gaze watchful. Once, she would have been able to tell what he was thinking.

  I don’t know what’s going on in Hawkfrost’s head anymore. . . . The thought scared her, and she shivered. But there would be time enough to worry about that later. She pushed Hawkfrost’s inscrutable look to the back of her mind and hurried off to gather the leaves she needed. She had a job to do.

  Chapter 7

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” Mothwing told Swallowtail a moon later. “The cut is healing, but it’s bound to sting a bit if you exert yourself too much.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to let that trout get away just because my leg hurt a little,” Swallowtail purred. “Thanks, Mothwing, I was afraid I’d made it worse.”

  Before Mothwing could answer, she heard a cat rushing through the tunnel into the medicine den and scented Willowpaw. “What’s wrong?” she started to ask as her apprentice emerged, thinking about what herbs they had on hand if some cat was seriously injured.

  Then she saw Willowpaw’s face. The meow faded before she could speak. Willowpaw looked frightened, and more than that, she looked like she felt intensely sorry for Mothwing. Mothwing stared at her apprentice, her heart pounding, and her mouth grew dry. She couldn’t speak.

  “Mothwing?” the small gray apprentice said tentatively, and Mothwing broke into sudden motion, pushing past Willowpaw and out into the camp. Something was terribly wrong.

  The first cat she saw was Leafpool, and she relaxed a little at the sight of her friend. Maybe things weren’t as bad as she thought. Leafpool’s clear amber gaze was serious, but she seemed calm. Then Mothwing saw Firestar, the ThunderClan leader, speaking with Leopardstar. Behind him were Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight. Between t
hem, the two warriors were carrying a limp cat, a huge one with dark brown tabby fur, draped across their backs.

  Mothwing froze. And then she gasped in horror. Hawkfrost.

  Her brother was dead.

  Every strand of fur on her pelt stiffened, and she walked forward, one slow step at a time, toward her littermate’s body. Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw lowered Hawkfrost to the ground and stepped back, respectfully giving her room.

  He’s not breathing. Mothwing reached out one tentative paw and found that her brother was cold. His chest fur was thick with sticky clumps of drying blood. There was a deep, round wound in his throat.

  She turned to look at the ThunderClan cats and realized that her Clanmates were staring at them, too, their pelts bristling with shock and hostility. Leafpool and Squirrelflight looked uninjured, though shaken, but Firestar’s neck was badly scratched, and Brambleclaw had claw marks on his throat and side.

  “What happened?” Mothwing asked at last, her voice thin. Distrust welled up inside her: Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost had planned to rule the territories together one day. Had their plan fallen apart? Or had Brambleclaw decided to eliminate his rival for power instead of working with him?

  As she stared at Brambleclaw, the tabby tom’s shoulders slumped and he gazed past her, his eyes dark with horror. No, Mothwing decided. Whatever had happened, the ThunderClan tom did not look like a triumphant victor.

  “I think we’d all like to know what happened,” Leopardstar growled, her dappled tail slashing from side to side. “Why are ThunderClan cats bringing me the dead body of one of RiverClan’s best warriors? We need an explanation, Firestar!”