Forest of Secrets - Chapter 35
Chapter 34 || Index || Chapter 36
Fireheart’s wounds burned as he crossed camp. Though exiled now, Tigerclaw had left his mark on the Clan - one that would not heal quickly, if at all. Though Fireheart gladly took the brunt of the attack, the victory that had been earned felt hollow. Even though Tigerclaw stood no chance at leading now, they had still lost two valuable warriors.
He paused outside the rocky crag of the healer’s den as he heard voices inside. He hadn’t seen Dewpaw or Yellowfang since before Brokentail’s rogues had invaded, and they hadn’t appeared for Tigerclaw’s condemnation. He suddenly recalled how Spottedleaf had died, not so long ago, and crouched as a wave of fear crashed over him. Nobody had thought to check on them - what if a rogue still remained in their camp?
He stalked his way inside, thankful for the shadows that would hide his bright ginger coat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he sighed gently in relief. While Dewpaw wasn’t inside, Yellowfang was, sitting next to a wailing Brokentail.
“My eyes! He took my eyes!” The rogue leader howled, his voice echoing in the small cave until it sounded as though a thousand ghosts were lamenting alongside him. “I can’t see!”
“It was an unlucky claw strike.” Yellowfang murmured sadly as she turned away and began to paw herbs down from her collection to tend to him. “Why did you try and hold him back? You could not keep him safe from those rogues.”
“Keep him safe?” Brokentail barked, his voice a mixture of astonishment and fury. “Why would I want to keep that miserable rat safe? If not for him and these pathetic excuses for warriors, I would still be Shadowclan’s leader! I could have ruled the whole forest!”
The old healer paused, her paw hovering near a red flower, dulled by time; a poppy flower, he recognized after a moment. “They have protected you. They took you in and kept you safe, just as they did for me.”
“And I didn’t ask for it!” The tabby exile spat furiously, whipping his head in what he thought was Yellowfang’s direction. “I’d be better off dead than being watched over by these weakling kittypet sympathizers! At least then I wouldn’t have to suffer the constant indignity of being taken care of by a traitorous sack of bones like you!”
Fireheart winced at the insults being flung Yellowfang’s way. Part of him wanted to step forward and interrupt, but he knew that Yellowfang would never forgive him for defending her when she could defend herself. She was a proud Shadowclanner, even if she had left them for Thunderclan territory, and he didn’t dare take that from her in front of her own son.
The healer’s paw withdrew from the poppy seeds, evidently deciding that he didn’t need any herbs for his pain. It was for the best, he figured, given the wounds that needed treatment outside. “I warned you, when you first became leader, that if you did not temper your ambition and pride it would lead you to ruin.” She told him softly as she gathered up the other herbs. “There is no shame in admitting defeat, Brokentail. You can still find peace-”
“I don’t want peace! Look around you! See what peace has done for these flea-brains, who refuse to kill even their enemies!” Brokentail snarled, his namesake lashing bitterly against the moss beneath him. “Power is all that matters! Not that I expect a healer like you to ever understand, with your useless flowers and ramblings about Starclan!”
Yellowfang reached her paw into another cubby, one Fireheart couldn’t see from his vantage point. “These useless flowers have saved lives. They can straighten bone, blot out infection, and create life - or take it, if need be.” She told him, her voice suddenly cold and lacking the gentle warmth that it always did when she was speaking to her son.
“Can they bring back my sight?” The prisoner retorted, his ears pinned back as he glared in her general direction.
“They can.” The old queen murmured softly to her son, but there was an ice in her voice that made Fireheart shiver uncomfortably. “Here. Take these seeds. They will give you what you need.”
She set down a large, flat leaf in front of him, with a small collection of round dark seeds on top. Poppy seeds? No, these had to be something else - but Fireheart didn’t have enough knowledge of herbs to identify them, especially from this far away. As he watched, she took one of the old rogue’s paws and guided it to where the leaf sat.
It took him several moments to find the seeds, but once he did, he lapped them up eagerly. “Finally, you prove to have some use after all.” Brokentail growled as he swallowed them down. “How long until I can see again?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Yellowfang promised, keeping her copper eyes focused on him. She didn’t move to take care of his other wounds, even though Fireheart could see several painful looking cuts along the former tyrant’s flank. “I wish you could have seen that power is not the only thing that matters in life. The warriors of Thunderclan understand that.”
She took a deep, painful-looking breath as she looked down at her son, who was clumsily beginning to clean himself. “They took me and the elders in, even though they did not have to, because it was the right thing to do. They made me feel as though I belonged, even though I was not born one of them. They could have done the same for you, in time.”
“Do I look like I care what those fools think?” He paused, spitting out a wad of matted fur in her direction before continuing to clean himself.
“No.” She admitted with a sigh as she got to her paws. “I know you care for nothing but yourself, Brokentail. Not the code, nor your Clan, nor even your own kin.”
The outlaw’s lip curled in something resembling a grin. “Are you still on about Raggedstar? That old crow was stifling the Clan. Don’t pretend as if you cared for him any more than I did.”
“Oh, but I did.” Yellowfang mewed, a gentleness trickling back into her tone at the thought of her old mate. “I loved him fiercely, and I know he would have died for me, had I asked him to. It was because of that love that I bore him a son. I often wonder how much would have changed, if I had chosen to raise him instead of that snake-hearted queen…”
The tabby rogue made a grotesque hacking noise at her words. “Spiders have spun webs in your skull, you old bat. I am Raggedstar’s only heir. Besides, healers aren’t allowed to have kits, according to your precious Starclan.”
“I know.” Yellowfang sighed mournfully, her posture defeated as she watched her son struggle to understand the weight of her words. “That is why I gave you up, so I could continue to care for the Clan I also loved. But I never stopped caring for you - never. I wept with pride the day you were named a warrior.”
“But then you murdered your own father.” She continued, her voice dropping to a low snarl filled with seasons of pent-up anger and bitterness. “You killed kits of your own Clan, and cast the blame on your healer - your own mother. You plotted to destroy the Clan that took you in despite the crimes you committed against it, all out of some misplaced sense of power and pride.” She shook her head slowly. “And so I must do what I should have done when you were first born, and put an end to your evil.”
“An end? What do you mean, you…” Brokentail tried to stand, but collapsed into his mossy nest instead. “What is this? What have you done to me?” He rasped, his legs moving weakly as though he was trying to get up, but his paws would not respond.
“Those were foxglove seeds that I gave you. Even one is a potent poison; with the amount you took, there is no surviving.” Her eyes were narrow slits as she gazed down on the broken shell of a once-feared leader. “I know this is your last life, Brokentail. Healers always know. And perhaps now I can rest peacefully at last, knowing that I will not be responsible for your sins any longer.”
Brokentail’s jaws parted in a cry of shock and fear. Fireheart thought he could hear regret there, too, but the blinded tom was unable to put words to it. His limbs thrashed and his paws scrabbled in the dust; his chest heaved as he fought for air.
He turned away, not wanting to see the grisly scene, and padded back out into the camp clearing. Peppermask was still answering the many questions of the Clan in regards to Tigerclaw’s treachery - just as Fireheart moved to join her, he nearly collapsed as the wounds the exiled deputy had given him reasserted themselves.
He stumbled back to the healer’s den, knowing that he had to get treatment or he would bleed out where he stood. Inside, Yellowfang was pressed against her son’s side, mumbling words under her breath that only his spirit would be able to hear.
“Yellowfang?” He mewed softly, the old healer startling at his voice.
She raised her gaze to meet his, her dark eyes full of sorrow. “His wounds in the battle were too great. I did everything I could to save him, but it wasn’t enough.” She rasped, closing her eyes briefly as another wave of grief washed over her.
He didn’t dare tell her that he knew she was lying. He knew he had witnessed something he shouldn’t have. What happened with Brokentail was between her and Starclan, he believed, and not for him to judge. “I’m sorry, Yellowfang. I know you loved him, despite his flaws.” He tried his best to keep his voice even, to prevent her from realizing he knew the truth. “I know you want to mourn him, but Tigerclaw hurt me badly during our fight. Do you have anything to help?”
The healer’s ears perked in astonishment, and he realized that she had been within her own bubble during the whole ordeal. “You fought with Tigerclaw?” She shook her head and stood, stumbling over to her collection of herbs. “Take a seat in one of the nests. I should have enough supplies to help you.”
He nodded and took a seat in one of the mossy nests next to the pool of water in her den. "I did. With Tinyfrost's help, I defeated him. He'd attacked - killed Bluestar, and..." He trailed off, confusion suddenly surfacing in his mind once more. "Yellowfang, I don't understand. Bluestar died - twice, according to what she told Whitestorm. Yet she somehow still lives. How...?"
She paused, turning to face him with a look of bewilderment on her flat face. “All this time in the Clan, and still no cat has told you about a leader’s nine lives?” She asked, her voice lacking the bitter sarcasm it normally would in her surprise.
“Nine lives? But that’s just an old queens’ tale! Cats don’t really get to live nine times.” Fireheart bristled at the thought. He remembered Henry telling him about it once, long ago, as well as detailing how he’d lost several of his own lives. He’d thought the older tom was exaggerating. But if it was really true…
The two stared at each other for a long moment. For the first time in a long while, Fireheart felt once again like a newcomer - one who understood nothing of Clan tradition, who had to have every little detail explained to him. He felt himself shrinking down to a small apprentice once more under Yellowfang’s incredulous stare, until at last she turned away and began pawing out herbs.
“Once they have named their deputy, leaders are taken to the Moonstone by their oldest healer. There, they receive nine lives from Starclan in a special ceremony. They use these nine lives to serve their Clan.” The dark gray molly explained flatly as she grabbed at several golden flowers - marigold, he recognized, from the clearing in which they had first discussed Redtail together. “An old queens’ tale, great Starclan!” She mused to herself before she gently picked up a leaf bundle thick with flowers and turned to carry it over to him, setting it down beside the nest he’d picked.
He flattened his ears at her incredulous condescension. “You have to admit that it sounds made up. Once things die, they’re supposed to stay dead. That’s what death means. That’s why…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He’d also believed the same thing when it came to Starclan spirits, but Redtail had proved him wrong. He’d wondered what sort of powers Starclan had then - it seemed trivial now, that they would be able to bring back the dead.
Yellowfang sighed as she began to examine his wounds. “I suppose I can see how to kittypets, it sounds like a tall tale. They don’t know about Starclan, after all.” She prodded one of his largest wounds, and he hissed instinctively at the pain. “That is also why leaders receive the title of -star. By gaining the power of Starclan, they become part of them.”
Fireheart nodded slowly. Now he understood why he had heard several cats fussing at the removal of Brokentail’s name; it had not just been a rejection of him as their leader, but also a rejection of his connection to Starclan and the lives they had given him. The thought of Brokentail’s lives suddenly brought him back to a moment several moons ago. “Wait. When Brokentail was hit by that Monster, I thought he was dead because he didn’t look like he was breathing. He was dead, wasn’t he? But he must have still had a life left, so Starclan brought him back.”
The healer’s eyes darkened as she chewed up a mix of several flowers, and she didn’t say anything for a long moment. At last, she applied the concoction to his wound, swiftly covering it with a pawful of cobwebs. “Yes, he still had a life left. Once that power is granted, it is not so easy to take it away.”
He wondered briefly what the old molly was thinking, but he knew better than to pry. Instead, he turned his thoughts to Bluestar, recovering from her murder in the nursery. “How many lives does Bluestar have left? She’s been leader for quite a while now, and Tigerclaw took two at the same time.”
Yellowfang didn’t answer, but the frown on her face told him all he needed to know. “It’s considered very rude to ask how many lives a leader has left. It’s something personal to them, which they only share with those close to them - their deputies, typically, and perhaps certain trusted family members as well.”
He bowed his head, slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry for asking.” He understood why leaders would not want that to be widely known - especially after what Tigerclaw had done.
She shrugged as she began applying more poultice to his other wounds. The herbs stung, but he knew that they would help him heal from the battle, so he did his best to stay still. “This is all new to you, so I won’t reprimand your curiosity.” Her gray paws firmly smoothed cobwebs against his wounds, pressing them tightly into his fur. The sticky substance felt strange and tight against his pelt. “Now, then. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and normally I would advise you to stay here for the night so I can watch you. But you’re young, and there are other cats that might need these nests more, so instead I’ll just warn you not to stretch too much and to come back and see me when the sun sets so I can switch your bandages.”
Fireheart nodded quickly in understanding. “Shall I go tell the others to come see you for healing?” He glanced at the body of Brokentail, his frame twisted in an unnatural position. “And maybe get the elders…?”
“No. I will bury him myself.” She turned away with a heavy sigh, concealing her face from his view. “As for healing, tell those that are still bleeding to come see me. We don’t have enough herbs to treat every little scratch.”
He dipped his head respectfully before turning to leave. His mind was swirling with everything that had happened - and perhaps a bit of blood loss - but at least his most pressing questions had been answered. By now, most of the crowd around Peppermask had disbanded, sulking off to various parts of the clearing to share tongues and absorb what had happened.
“Uh… everybody?” He announced, doing his best to draw their attention. Most cats turned to look at him, though none moved from their positions. “Yellowfang says that any cats that still have bleeding wounds need to come see her. Everyone else will have to wait until the more serious injuries are treated.”
He was grateful to see that most of the Clan had escaped the fighting relatively unscathed - a few cuts here and there, and many would certainly feel the impact of the blows they’d received for several days, but only a few had sustained serious wounds during the fight like he had. Only Sandstorm, Patchpelt and Speckleflight limped past him - the first line of fighters that had had to deal with the rogues until the other warriors had arrived.
His job done, Fireheart turned his attention to the nursery, where Lionheart and Whitestorm were dutifully sitting guard. He hesitated to approach the two giant toms, but he wouldn’t be able to rest until he made sure his sister and her kits had escaped the worst of the fighting. Plucking up his courage, he limped over to the two of them.
“Fireheart?” Lionheart’s scrutinizing stare turned on him, but he was thankful to see it was not an overly hostile one. “Did you need something from us?”
“No, I-” He swallowed back his fear, feeling momentarily overwhelmed by everything that had happened. Would Princess blame him for not warning her? He shook his head quickly. “I wanted to see my sister. I promise I won’t disturb Bluestar.”
The two warriors only needed to glance at each other before the golden warrior stepped aside with a slight bow. “They are waiting for you inside.” He informed Fireheart, taking a seat beside the entrance.
Fireheart dipped his head gratefully to Lionheart before squeezing his way inside. He didn’t take even a heartbeat to look for Bluestar, his eyes immediately going to where he knew his sister and her kits laid.
He was relieved to see that while she looked unnerved, her kits still squirmed happily at her side and she seemed unharmed. “Fireheart! Thank goodness you’re alive.” She purred, leaning up to touch noses with him as he approached.
He did so readily, welcoming the cold sensation of her nose on his. “I’m glad to see you safe as well. Did the rogues come in here at all?” He sniffed at the kits, who turned to look at him with bleary blue eyes.
“They did.” His heart plummeted at her admission. He’d been so worried about Bluestar, he’d forgotten to think of her at all during the battle. “But Goldenflower and Frostfur protected us! They had that rogue crying like a kit before they were through with him.” She shook her head, a sense of awe creeping over her face. “They’re so gentle with the kits, I didn’t think they had it in them! But they’re a force to be reckoned with, for sure.”
“When it comes to protecting kits, there is no cat I’d want by my side more than Frostfur.” He didn’t dare tell her about the white queen’s nickname - which was for the best, as he realized with a glance around the den that the two were sitting in their nest and sharing tongues. “Still, I’m glad you’re not injured.”
“I’m glad you’re safe too. The fighting out there sounded intense, and then…” She glanced at the nest beside her, where Bluestar was curled up. Her silver fur was dark and matted with blood, but she appeared to be fine - just resting, he imagined, given that he couldn’t see her eyes.
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain more to you when things aren’t so hectic.” And when no one else was around to eavesdrop, he thought to himself. Even though the truth was out in the open now, there were still parts of the story he wouldn’t tell to cats he didn’t trust. “I’ll be back soon, alright? I just had to check in on you before I did anything else.”
“I appreciate it.” She purred softly, touching noses with him one last time before he turned to leave. He cast another glance in Bluestar’s direction, tempted to talk to her as well, but quickly turned away and left the nursery instead. Tough conversations could be had later, and the leader needed rest after what had happened. Besides, he’d promised Lionheart and Whitestorm he wouldn’t disturb her.
He gave a respectful nod to the two warriors as he exited, before setting his sights on where Peppermask was now sitting alone in the clearing, taking stock of her injuries. She looked up to see his approach, heaving a weary sigh as he sat down next to her. “I had hoped this day wouldn’t come.” She murmured to him sadly.
“As had I.” Fireheart replied, his heart aching as he did. Tigerclaw could have been a great leader, had he not stooped to murder for his ambitions. Now, as the sun had passed its zenith and was setting towards the treeline, he felt a profound sense of loss - not just because of the two deputies that Tigerclaw had killed, but also for the emptiness of camp now that two more of its warriors had departed.
All around camp, cats were whispering to each other and staring across the clearing distrustfully. The mighty deputy had been a cornerstone of the Clan, a foundation of strength upon which all warriors had come to rely on. Now that he was gone, it felt as though Thunderclan had lost everything that made it a Clan: safety, trust, and honor.
What would become of the Clan now? It would be up to Bluestar and the next deputy to bring these broken cats back together. Looking around camp, he wasn’t sure which cat was strong enough, and wise enough, to stand beside her and help her pick up the pieces.
If only Bluestar had listened to him…
He shook his head quickly. What was done was done. The only thing to do now was to focus on what was in front of them. He stood to stretch, but his side painfully reminded him that he had to be gentle on it. “Peppermask, would you mind hunting for Princess for me today? I don’t know if I can catch much in this state.”
She glanced over him, a patchwork of fur and cobwebs. “Of course, Fireheart. Why don’t you go and get some rest? You’re not going to be doing anything like that, and it will be a while still until Bluestar has recovered enough to choose a deputy. I’ll wake you before the ceremony begins.”
As she mentioned it, a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Even though it was only a little past sunhigh, it had already been a long day. As much as he wanted to protest her remarks, he knew he needed the rest. “Thank you. I’ll see you tonight.” With that he slipped away to the warriors’ den. Several cats sat inside, recuperating from their wounds and trying to get some sleep after the battle. All gave him a wary glance as he entered, but none spoke as he padded over to his nest and fell into it. Worries swirled around in his mind, buzzing like angry flies, and he feared he would get no sleep at all. But it took only moments for his breathing to slow and the sounds of outside to fade away, and soon he was gladly welcoming the waiting darkness that claimed him.