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“There is,” Mistyfoot assured her. “They’re decent cats—for ThunderClan, anyway. Give them a chance to explain.”
Both she and Silverstream looked expectantly at Fireheart.
“We need to talk to you,” Fireheart began, feeling his whiskers twitch nervously. He pushed the piece of fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “Here, I brought you this.”
Graypool eyed the mouse. “Well, at least you remember your manners, ThunderClan or not.” She crouched down and began to crunch the fresh-kill, showing teeth broken with age. “Stringy, but it’ll do,” she rasped, gulping.
While she was still eating, Fireheart tried to find the right words for what he needed to say. “I want to ask you about something Oakheart said before he died,” he ventured.
Graypool’s ears twitched.
“I heard what happened in the battle at the Sunningrocks,” Fireheart continued. “Before he died, Oakheart told one of our warriors that no ThunderClan cat should ever harm Stonefur. Do you know what he might have meant?”
Graypool did not reply until she had swallowed the last morsel of mouse and swiped a remarkably pink tongue around her muzzle. Then she sat up and curled her tail around her paws. She fixed a thoughtful gaze on Fireheart for several long moments, until he felt that she could see everything that was in his mind.
“I think you should go,” she mewed at last to the two young RiverClan cats. “Go on, out. You too,” she added to Graystripe. “I’ll talk to Fireheart alone. I can see he’s the one who needs to know.”
Fireheart bit back a protest. If he insisted that Graystripe should stay, the RiverClan elder might refuse to talk at all. He looked at his friend and saw his own puzzled expression reflected in Graystripe’s yellow eyes. What did Graypool have to say that she didn’t want her own Clan to hear? Fireheart shivered, and not from the cold. Some instinct told him there was a secret here, dark as the shadow of a crow’s wing. But if it was a RiverClan secret, he couldn’t imagine what it could have to do with ThunderClan.
From the glances they exchanged, Silverstream and Mistyfoot were just as confused, but they started to back out from the bush without protest.
“We’ll wait for you near the Twoleg bridge,” Silverstream mewed.
“There’s no need,” Graypool hissed impatiently. “I may be old, but I’m not helpless. I’ll find my own way back.”
Silverstream shrugged and the two RiverClan cats withdrew, with Graystripe following them.
Graypool sat in silence until the scents of the cats who had left began to fade. “Now,” she began, “Mistyfoot has told you that I’m her mother, and Stonefur’s?”
“Yes.” Fireheart’s initial nervousness was ebbing away, to be replaced with respect for this ancient enemy queen, as he sensed the wisdom beneath her apparent short temper.
“Well,” growled the old cat, “I’m not.” As Fireheart opened his mouth to speak, she went on. “I brought the pair of them up as kits, but I didn’t give birth to them. Oakheart brought them to me in the middle of leaf-bare, when they were just a few days old.”
“But where did Oakheart get the kits?” Fireheart blurted out.
Graypool’s eyes narrowed. “He told me he found them in the forest, as if they’d been abandoned by rogue cats or Twolegs,” she meowed. “But I’m not stupid, and my nose has always worked just fine. The kits smelled of the forest all right, but there was another scent underneath. The scent of ThunderClan.”
CHAPTER 6
“What?” Fireheart was so astonished he could hardly speak. “Are you saying that Mistyfoot and Stonefur came from ThunderClan?”
“Yes.” Graypool gave her chest fur a couple of licks. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Fireheart was stunned. “Did Oakheart steal them?” he asked.
Graypool’s fur bristled, and she drew her lips back in a snarl. “Oakheart was a noble warrior. He would never stoop to stealing kits!”
“I’m sorry.” Alarmed, Fireheart crouched and flattened his ears. “I didn’t mean…It’s just so hard to believe!”
Graypool sniffed, and her fur gradually lay flat again. Fireheart was still struggling with what she had just told him. If Oakheart hadn’t stolen the kits, perhaps rogue cats had taken them from the ThunderClan camp—but why? And why abandon them so quickly, when the scent of their Clan was still on their fur?
“Then…if they were ThunderClan kits, why did you look after them?” he stammered. What Clan would willingly take in enemy kits, and in a season when prey was already scarce?
Graypool shrugged. “Because Oakheart asked me to. He may not have been deputy back then, but he was a fine young warrior. I’d recently given birth to kits of my own, but all except one died in the bitter cold. I had plenty of milk to spare, and the poor little scraps would never have lived to see the sunrise if some cat hadn’t cared for them. Their ThunderClan scent soon faded,” she went on. “And even if Oakheart hadn’t told the truth about where they came from, I respected him enough not to ask any more questions. Thanks to Oakheart, and to me, they grew into strong kits, and now they’re good warriors—a credit to their Clan.”
“Do Mistyfoot and Stonefur know all this?” Fireheart asked.
“Now listen to me,” rasped Graypool. “Mistyfoot and Stonefur know nothing, and if you tell them what I’ve just told you, I’ll rip your liver out and feed it to the crows.” She thrust her head forward and drew her lips back as she spoke, baring her teeth. In spite of her age, Fireheart flinched.
“They never doubted that I’m their real mother,” Graypool growled. “I like to think they even look a bit like me.”
As she spoke, Fireheart felt something stir in his mind, like the twitch of a fallen leaf that betrayed the mouse sheltering beneath it. He thought that what Graypool had just said should mean something to him, but when he tried to capture the thought it scuttled away.
“They have always been loyal to RiverClan,” Graypool insisted. “I don’t want that loyalty to be divided now. I’ve heard the gossip about you, Fireheart—I know you were once a kittypet—so you should understand more than any cat what it means to have a paw in two places.”
Fireheart knew he would never make any cat go through the uncertainties that he suffered himself about not fully belonging to his Clan. “I promise I’ll never tell them,” he meowed solemnly. “I swear it by StarClan.”
The old cat relaxed and stretched, her front paws extended and her rump in the air. “I accept your word, Fireheart,” she replied. “I don’t know if this has helped you at all. But it might explain why Oakheart would never let a ThunderClan cat harm Mistyfoot or Stonefur. Even if he claimed to know nothing about where they came from, he would have smelled the ThunderClan scent on them as clearly as I did. As far as they’re concerned, they are loyal only to RiverClan, but it would seem that Oakheart’s loyalties were divided on their behalf.”
“I’m very grateful to you,” Fireheart purred, trying to sound as respectful as he could. “I don’t know what this means in relation to what I have to find out, but I really think it’s important, for both our Clans.”
“That’s as may be,” mewed Graypool. She frowned. “But now that I’ve told you everything, you must leave our territory.”
“Of course,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t even know I’ve been here. And Graypool…” He pause
d before thrusting his way out of the bush and held her pale yellow gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”
Fireheart’s mind was spinning as he returned to the camp. Mistyfoot and Stonefur had ThunderClan blood! But they belonged entirely to RiverClan now, with no idea of their divided heritage. Blood loyalty and Clan loyalty were not always the same, Fireheart reflected. His own kittypet roots did not make his commitment to ThunderClan any less strong.
And perhaps now that Mistyfoot had confirmed how Oakheart had died, Bluestar would be willing to accept that Tigerclaw had killed Redtail. Fireheart decided to ask her about Graypool’s latest revelation too; Bluestar might be able to tell him if a pair of kits had ever been stolen from the ThunderClan camp.
When he reached the clearing, Fireheart made straight for the Highrock. As he approached Bluestar’s den, he heard two cats meowing together, and picked up Tigerclaw’s scent along with Bluestar’s. Quickly he pressed himself against the rock, hoping to stay out of sight, as the deputy shouldered his way out past the curtain of lichen that screened the mouth of the den.
“I’ll try a hunting patrol toward the Snakerocks,” the dark tabby called over his shoulder. “No cat has hunted there for a few days.”
“Good idea,” agreed Bluestar, following him out. “Prey is still scarce. May StarClan grant the thaw comes soon.”
Tigerclaw grunted agreement and loped off toward the warriors’ den, not noticing Fireheart where he crouched by the rock.
When he had gone, Fireheart padded up to the mouth of the den. “Bluestar,” he called, as the Clan leader turned to go back inside. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Very well,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “Come in.”
Fireheart followed her into the den. The curtain of lichen swung back into place, cutting off the bright snow-light. In the dim interior, Bluestar sat facing him. “What is it?” she asked.
