Bluestar's Prophecy

by Erin Hunter

  There was a final, heaving pain, and Bluefur flopped down onto the moss, panting.

  “Well done!” Featherwhisker congratulated her. “Another she-kit! And all three look healthy and strong.”

  Well done, Snowfur’s soft mew whispered.

  Thank you, Snowfur. Bluefur wrapped her tail around her three new kits and held them tightly to her belly. As they began to suckle, memory of the pain faded like a bad dream. Oakheart, we have two daughters and a son.

  The brambles rustled, and Thrushpelt squeezed into the den. “How is she?”

  “Bluefur’s fine,” Featherwhisker told him. “She had three healthy kits. Two she-kits and a tom.”

  Thrushpelt purred with delight, and Bluefur felt a rush of gratitude. She had decided not to tell her Clanmates that he was the father—though she suspected many of them had assumed he was. But Thrushpelt had never betrayed Bluefur’s secret; if any of their Clanmates mentioned the forthcoming kits to them, he just nodded and said it was excellent news for the Clan. Now he leaned into the nest and nuzzled them. “I would have been very proud to have been their father,” he whispered to Bluefur.

  Bluefur’s heart ached. “You’re a good friend,” she whispered back.

  “What are you going to call them?” White-eye mewed, padding from her nest.

  “The dark gray she-kit will be Mistykit,” Bluefur purred. “And the gray tom, Stonekit.” She wanted to give them names that reminded her of the river.

  “What about this one?” Thrushpelt stroked the tiny pale-gray-and-white kit with the tip of his tail.

  “Mosskit,” Bluefur decided.

  Featherwhisker’s whiskers twitched. “So you’re not letting the father decide on any of the names?” he teased. “You always were determined, Bluefur.” Behind his eyes, curiosity gleamed.

  Sorry, Featherwhisker. You’ve been good to me, but this is my secret to keep.

  Bluefur bent over her kits once more and began lapping at their damp pelts. If only Oakheart could see them. She recognized the shape of the RiverClan warrior’s head in Stonekit’s and felt his sleek fur as she washed Mosskit. I’ll love you enough for both of us, she promised.

  Hugging them closer, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

  Snow still lay heavy in the camp half a moon later. Bluefur was worried that her kits would get too cold as she sat near the nursery entrance and watched them batting at the drifting flakes, squeaking with excitement.

  “Should I take them inside?” she asked White-eye.

  “Kits are tougher than they look,” White-eye soothed. “If you see their noses turning pale, then it’s time to take them in.”

  Bluefur peered at the three kits’ noses; they were as pink as berries as the kits hopped through the snow, chasing one another’s tails. Runningkit and Mousekit, three moons older, were teasing them by flicking lumps of snow at them and then looking innocent when the kits skidded to a halt to complain.

  Adderfang was clearing snow from the entrance tunnel, helped by Windflight and Swiftbreeze. Thistleclaw was demonstrating fighting moves to Redpaw and Willowpaw next to the snow-crushed nettle patch. Willowpaw’s pale pelt was hardly visible against the whiteness. Sunstar and Stormtail were digging through the snow where the fresh-kill pile used to be.

  “Nothing left.” Sunstar sat back on his haunches, disappointed.

  Stormtail sighed. “We’ll just have to keep sending out hunting patrols until someone catches something.” He glanced toward the nursery, his eyes dark with worry. “Even the queens are starting to look thin.”

  Featherwhisker was carrying a bundle of herbs to the elders’ den.

  “Is everything okay?” Sunstar called to him.

  “Yes,” Featherwhisker mumbled through his jawful of leaves. “I’m just trying to make sure it stays that way.” He nodded to Goosefeather, who was squeezing out through the branches of the fallen tree. “Settled in now?”

  “What?” Goosefeather looked distracted.

  “Is your nest comfortable?” Featherwhisker pressed.

  “Yes, fine.” Goosefeather padded across the clearing as Featherwhisker disappeared into the elders’ den.

  Bluefur watched the old medicine cat approach. He had a fierce, glazed look in his eyes that made her pelt tingle. What was he going to say this time? She glanced at her kits, who were now tumbling down the snow that had drifted against the warriors’ den. “Don’t disturb Smallear!” she warned. “He’s trying to get some rest.”

  “We won’t,” Stonekit promised, clambering up the pile again and bundling back down. He sat up at the bottom, scattering snow when he shook his ears.

  Bluefur shook her head fondly.

  A shadow fell across her. “This was not part of the prophecy,” Goosefeather hissed. “Fire must burn without bonds.”

  Bluefur stood up and faced him. She may have doubted once that fire burned inside her, but she was sure now that it did. She felt it scorching beneath her pelt, giving her the strength of a lion to protect her kits. “The prophecy can wait,” she growled. “My kits need me now.”

  “What about your Clan?” Goosefeather turned and looked at Thistleclaw on the other side of the clearing. The warrior’s coat was ridged with snow as he tried to coax Redpaw to reach higher with his swiping forepaws.

  “Stretch your claws!” he snapped. “You won’t be fighting mice.”

  Bluefur sighed. What could she do?

  “Watch this!” Mistykit called as she flung herself headfirst down the snow pile.

  The yew bush shook as Smallear stormed out. “Can’t you kits play anywhere else?” he grumbled.

  Bluefur called, “I’m sorry, Smallear. I warned them.”

  Smallear’s gaze softened as Mosskit tumbled toward him, squealing, “Look at meeeeeee!”

  “I suppose they’re not kits for long,” the warrior sighed, padding toward the fallen tree. “Perhaps Stonepelt will let me squeeze in with him for a nap.”

  Goosefeather turned back to Bluefur, and his blue eyes were as empty as the sky. “If Thistleclaw becomes deputy, it will be the end of ThunderClan.”

  Bluefur narrowed her eyes. “My kits need me,” she repeated.

  “They’re not just your kits,” Goosefeather told her. “They have a father who would raise them.”

  Bluefur’s heart lurched. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you,” Goosefeather murmured. “With Oakheart, near Fourtrees.”

  Bluefur flinched as if he’d struck her. He knows!

  “I do not stand in judgment, Bluefur,” Goosefeather mewed gently. “You never set out to betray your Clan. But these kits will drown in blood with the rest of their Clanmates unless you act. You are still the fire that will scorch a different path for ThunderClan.”

  “Bluefur!” Stonekit’s panicked squeak made her spin around. Mosskit had tumbled into a drift up to her ears. Bluefur hurried over and plucked her out by the scruff, shaking the snow from the tiny bundle of fur and placing her on a firmer patch.

  Was Goosefeather right? Was she the only one who could save her Clan? He had been wrong before. His Clanmates had stopped listening to his dark warnings long before he’d retired to the elders’ den. Did he really know what their warrior ancestors had planned for the Clans? Heart quickening, she glanced at the sky. StarClan, give me a sign! But she saw nothing except the thick, creamy clouds of leaf-bare.

  Snow slumped from the gorse barrier as a hunting patrol pushed through the entrance tunnel. Whitestorm, Lionheart, and Goldenflower padded into the camp, tails down. Whitestorm clutched one scrawny sparrow in his jaws.

  “Is that it?” Sunstar demanded, bounding over to inspect the catch.

  “We’ve been everywhere,” Lionheart reported. “The forest is empty.”

  “Did you try digging?” Sunstar pressed.

  “The prey is too well hidden.” Goldenflower sighed.

  Sunstar scanned the camp, his gaze flitting over his Clanmates, all as thin as bones. “The queens must be
fed first,” he decided.

  Whitestorm carried the sparrow to the nursery entrance and laid it at White-eye’s paws. The half-sighted queen glanced at Bluefur. “You have first bite,” she offered.

  Gratefully Bluefur bit into the sparrow. She’d been hungry for days, and she knew from the way her kits paddled their little feet against her belly that she wasn’t producing enough milk for them. She wrinkled her nose as she tasted the dry flesh, stiff and sour as bark.

  Featherwhisker wove his way through the drifts from the fallen tree, the branches dropping snow on his pelt. “Is that fresh-kill?” he called. He stared, disappointed, at the half-chewed sparrow. “The elders are starving,” he sighed.

  “They can have a bite of this,” White-eye offered.

  Featherwhisker shook his head.

  “What about Tawnyspots?” Bluefur suggested. “He needs to keep his strength up.” The ThunderClan deputy no longer even left the medicine clearing to use the dirtplace.

  She picked up the sparrow, ready to take it to him. Featherwhisker stopped her with a paw. “He won’t eat it,” he murmured. “He hasn’t been able to keep anything down for days.”

  Bluefur froze. “Is he dying?”

  Featherwhisker steadily met her gaze. “He’s not getting better.”

  Bluefur hardly heard him. She was staring at Thistleclaw. The dark brown warrior was watching Featherwhisker with pricked ears. His eyes gleamed.

  Bluefur blinked. Thistleclaw’s spiky pelt was glistening. Was he wet? Something dark and sticky was flowing down his pelt.

  Blood!

  Thistleclaw was drenched with blood. It oozed from his fur and dripped from his whiskers, staining the snow around him scarlet.

  Horrified, Bluefur backed away.

  “What is it?” Featherwhisker mewed. “Bluefur?”

  When she felt the medicine cat’s tail touch her shoulder, Bluefur blinked and the blood disappeared. Thistleclaw was glaring at her, his tabby pelt once more brown and tufty.

  She caught Goosefeather’s eye, and he nodded. He’d seen it too. A vision of ThunderClan’s path if Thistleclaw was to lead them.

  Shaking, Bluefur stared at her kits. How could I give you up?

  “I’m hungry!” Mistykit complained, trotting up with her tail sticking out.

  “Let’s go inside.” The words stuck in Bluefur’s throat. I have no choice. I have to save my Clan.

  A full moon hung above Fourtrees. The clouds had cleared though snow still smothered the forest.

  The Gathering had begun.

  Bluefur stared around the clearing, blind to the cats mingling around her. She saw the roots where she made a nest with Oakheart; the branches they had climbed to look at the sky. She wished she were high up there now, closer to the stars than to the problems of her Clan, far from the grief that tore at her heart.

  Stop it! There was no time to indulge in sadness or memories. She searched the pelts streaming around her. Where are you, Oakheart? Please be here.

  The hollow was noisy, full of chatter, swirling with cats. Sunstar had let her come to the Gathering even though she was a nursing queen; she wondered if something in her eyes had persuaded him. She pictured her kits now, safe and warm beside White-eye’s belly.

  Oakheart!

  She spotted his tawny pelt swimming through the crowd. Shouldering her way through a cluster of ShadowClan warriors, she headed for him, keeping her gaze fixed on his pelt in case she lost sight of him.

  “Oakheart,” she hissed as soon as he was close enough to hear.

  He spun around, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.

  “We need to talk.”

  He nodded and darted away, beckoning Bluefur with his tail. She followed as he weaved out of the crowd and slid behind one of the great oaks.

  “I heard about the kits,” he whispered. “How are they? What do they look like?” His eyes were glowing with pride and, for a moment, Bluefur forgot what she had come to tell him. If only he could see their kits, curled like sleepy dormice in the nursery.

  “They’re beautiful,” she breathed. “I named them Stonekit, Mistykit, and Mosskit.”

  Oakheart sighed and sat down. “I wish I could see them.”

  “You can.” Bluefur stiffened. “I can’t keep them.”

  “What?” Oakheart stared at her in disbelief.

  “My Clan needs me more.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” His mouth hung open.

  He thinks I’m heartless. Bluefur shut her eyes for a moment, looking for the fire that burned inside her. Then she looked at the cat that had once been her mate. “Our kits are lucky,” she meowed. “They have both you and me to protect them. ThunderClan has only me.”

  “What are you asking me?” Oakheart growled.

  “You have to take them. I’ll bring them to Sunningrocks tomorrow night.”

  Oakheart narrowed his eyes. “If I take them, they’ll be raised as RiverClan warriors,” he warned. “For their own sakes, they will never know that you were their mother.”

  “I understand,” Bluefur whispered. Would her kits forget her so easily? How could she let them grow up without her? She had to—or they would drown in blood with their Clanmates when Thistleclaw came to power. She blinked and turned to walk away. She had to trust in StarClan. And in Oakheart.

  His paw tugged her pelt.

  “Bluefur?”

  “What?” She turned on him, eyes fiery as she fought to stay strong.

  “This isn’t like you,” he murmured. “I can see how much you love our kits. You are a good mother.”

  Her voice cracked. “I can’t be what I want to be. I need to be strong as fire. I need to save my Clan.” Grief clouded her gaze, and Oakheart swam in front of her. “It is for the best,” she whispered. “I hope they know that they have been loved. Even if they don’t remember me, I hope they’ll know that.”

  Oakheart touched his muzzle to her cheek. “They will know,” he promised. “And…thank you.” The warmth of his breath brought memories surging back until Bluefur couldn’t bear it any longer, and she wrenched herself away. She padded back into the throng of cats, knowing that each paw step took her farther from her kits.

  Please, StarClan. Let this truly be the path you wish me to follow.

  CHAPTER 41

  “Wake up.” Bluefur kept her voice low so she didn’t disturb White-eye, Mousekit, or Runningkit. “Come on, Mosskit. Open your eyes.” She gently shook her kits one by one and watched as they stretched, trembling, and opened their sleepy eyes.

  Stonekit yawned. “Is it dawn?”

  “Not yet,” Bluefur murmured. “So we have to be quiet. We don’t want to wake anyone up.”

  “What’s the matter?” Mistykit squeaked.

  “Hush.” Bluefur looked anxiously at White-eye’s nest. Runningkit was fidgeting in his sleep. She wrapped her tail around her own kits, quieting them until Runningkit lay still, then whispered, “We’re going to play a game, but you have to be very, very quiet.”

  Stonekit was wide awake now, blinking in the darkness. “What game?”

  “It’s called Secret Escape.” Bluefur made her eyes bright, forcing herself to look excited. She felt as if she were in a dream, and nothing she said or did was really happening.

  Mistykit jumped to her paws. “How do we play?”

  “It’s an adventure,” Bluefur explained. “We pretend that ShadowClan has invaded the camp. We have to escape without being seen, and meet our Clanmates at Sunningrocks.”

  Mosskit stared at her with round, anxious eyes. “We’re leaving the camp?”

  Stonekit nudged her. “How else would we get to Sunningrocks, mouse-brain?”

  “But we’ve never been out of the camp before,” Mosskit fretted. “We’re too little.”

  “I’m hungry,” Mistykit complained.

  Bluefur fought the frustration pricking her nerves. “Okay,” she mewed softly. “Let’s eat first, then we’ll start the game. Mosskit, you’re a big, strong k
it now. You’ll be fine, I promise.” She gave them what milk she had, which was even less than usual after so many days’ hunger, and then nosed them out of the nest.

  Stonekit bounced to the entrance. “I can’t believe we’re going out of camp!” he mewed excitedly.

  “Hush,” Bluefur reminded him. “If we wake any cats, we’ve lost the game.”

  She squeezed out first and turned to scoop the three kits down into the snow. There’d been a new fall since dusk, but the clouds had cleared and the camp shone white in the moonlight. She scanned the clearing. No sign of life.

  Breath billowed from her mouth as she hurried her kits behind the nursery. The air was needle-sharp cold. “We’re going to use the dirtplace tunnel,” she whispered, checking again that no one was around to see them. “That’s what we’d do if we were really sneaking out of the camp.”

  Bluefur hurried them through the narrow tunnel and out past the bush that covered the dirtplace.

  Mistykit wrinkled her nose. “Stinky!”

  Stonekit was staring up through the bare branches. “Wow! It’s big out here!”

  “I know, little one.” Bluefur nudged him on. She remembered the first time she had left the camp, when Sunstar—Sunfall, then—had taken her to the top of the ravine just before she was made an apprentice. It had been the biggest adventure of her life, and she hadn’t been able to imagine a time when scrambling up and down the ravine would feel ordinary or easy.

  The side of the ravine loomed above them. The kits tipped back their heads and stared up, their eyes huge and filled with the moon.

  “I’ll have to carry you up,” Bluefur told them. “Then you can see the real forest.”

  Mistykit blinked. “There’s more?”

  Bluefur pricked her ears, listening for Stormtail. She knew he was guarding the camp tonight.

  Stonekit pricked his ears, too. “Are ShadowClan warriors after us?” he squeaked. “In the game, I mean.”

  “They might be,” Bluefur whispered. “We have to keep a lookout, just in case. That’s what makes it so exciting.”

  Mistykit whipped around. “I think I see a ShadowClan warrior in the trees,” she warned.