At his words, Tigerstar let out a growl, positioning himself to launch his body at Bramblestar. The impostor seemed unaware of the younger leader’s hostility—or perhaps, Bristlefrost thought, he simply didn’t care.
She knew that she had to stop a fight breaking out. She didn’t dare speak, but she leaped to her paws and took a pace or two toward the Great Oak so that Tigerstar could look down at her. Gazing up at him fervently, she tried to tell him, Stop! You have to play along for now, or all our plans will fall apart!
Tigerstar’s eyes widened in understanding. He shook his head slightly but retreated a pace, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Bramblestar.
“I don’t want to do this,” Harestar went on, regaining some control over himself. “But WindClan is suffering. This recent wind and rain is driving prey from the moor, and my cats are hungry.”
Bramblestar nodded, a gleam in his amber gaze. “Of course they are! This is StarClan’s punishment for not following their wishes.” Glancing around at the assembled cats, he added, “WindClan’s woes are a warning to all of us. If we don’t enforce the code and send the codebreakers away, things will get worse, not better! Every cat here must realize that we need StarClan’s guidance more than ever. And that means we have no choice.”
The impostor bent his head and directed his gaze downward to where Crowfeather was seated with the other deputies on the roots of the Great Oak. As the dark gray tom looked back at him, a growl rose from deep within Crowfeather’s chest, though he said nothing.
Crowfeather’s son Breezepelt rose to his paws. “Harestar, you can’t seriously mean to exile our deputy,” he protested. “WindClan needs him.”
“And we don’t have to do it now,” Breezepelt’s mother, Nightcloud, added. “We can try to contact StarClan again and make sure it’s the right thing to do.”
Harestar let out a yowl of frustration. “We can’t contact StarClan. That’s the whole problem!”
Nightcloud let out a hiss and turned her back on her Clan leader.
Before any other cat could speak, Crowfeather rose and leaped down from his position on the gnarled oak root. “If I have to leave to save my Clan from conflict, then I will leave,” he announced to the whole Gathering. “But I tell you this: It won’t bring StarClan back. Today it’s me, and the other cats named in Shadowsight’s vision. But what happens when we’re exiled and StarClan doesn’t return? Who will be next?”
Without waiting for a response, he stalked across the clearing, his head and tail held high, and disappeared into the bushes, heading for the tree-bridge. Bristlefrost watched him go, doing her best to hide her admiration.
Crowfeather is putting his Clan first. And he’s right: I’m sure exiling all these cats won’t bring StarClan back.
Bristlefrost turned back to the Great Oak as she heard Mistystar begin to speak. The RiverClan leader was looking sorrowfully down at her medicine cat, Mothwing.
“I’m sorry, Mothwing,” she meowed. “Your mother was a rogue and your father was the first Tigerstar, who, whatever he was, was not a RiverClan cat. I must send you into exile.”
“But—” Mothwing began to protest, while her former apprentice, Willowshine, glared up at Mistystar with narrowed eyes and teeth bared in a snarl.
“We must try,” Mistystar interrupted. “These heavy newleaf rains have brought flooding and mudslides to RiverClan, and prey has not been running well. I need StarClan’s guidance, but StarClan has turned away from us. Perhaps Bramblestar is right; perhaps we have been too lax in following the warrior code, and that’s why StarClan is angry with us. I have no choice but to exile you.”
Mothwing rose to her paws. Bristlefrost was close enough to see the hurt in her eyes as she responded to her Clan leader. “I’ve been devoted to RiverClan ever since my mother brought me to you,” she pointed out. “My own mother decided to leave the Clan, but I chose to stay!”
“You don’t even follow StarClan,” some cat muttered from among the RiverClan cats.
Mothwing’s head whipped around in the direction of the voice. “That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “I’ve proven my loyalty to my Clan many times over.” She gazed up at Mistystar, not pleading any longer, but Bristlefrost could see how much she loved her Clan, and how crushed she was at the thought of exile.
“I’m sorry,” Mistystar repeated. “Perhaps when all this is over, you will be able to return.”
Mothwing’s chest heaved in a deep sigh, and she bowed her head to her leader without any more protest. Then she turned and headed out of the clearing, following in Crowfeather’s paw steps.
All around Bristlefrost the assembly broke up into small groups of cats, arguing whether it was right to exile the codebreakers. Dread swelled in her belly as she listened to the furious yowls and snarling.
This isn’t a war between Clans, she realized. It could be even worse.
Each Clan seemed to be splintering into different factions, allying themselves with cats from other Clans, even if all they had in common was their feelings about the codebreakers. Bristlefrost could see the strength of five united Clans slipping away like water soaking into dry ground.
She noticed that Bramblestar had leaped down from the Great Oak and was circling the camp, listening to the chaos he had unleashed. Now and again he would speak up to defend Mistystar or Harestar against their own warriors.
In the confusion, Bristlefrost noticed Stemleaf creeping away, following Mothwing and Crowfeather. A spark of hope lit inside her that he would be able to find them and tell them that Tigerstar had offered refuge to the exiles in ShadowClan.
I just hope he doesn’t get caught. . . .
Chapter 5
Rootpaw scrabbled uncertainly at the pile of dried leaves lying in front of him on the floor of the medicine-cat den. “Comfrey?” he guessed.
Fidgetflake rolled his eyes. “It’s tansy, for StarClan’s sake! Can’t you smell the difference?”
Rootpaw nodded obligingly, but inwardly he was thinking that all these dried herbs smelled the same—dry and dusty. Suppressing a sigh, he reminded himself that being a medicine cat was a very important job. His Clan needed him, and he liked the way that every cat treated him with respect. But at the same time, he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that it would be a lot more fun to be out hunting on such a sunny day.
I want to do what’s right for my Clan, but maybe I didn’t think this whole medicine-cat thing through. This . . . isn’t how I imagined my life would be.
Frecklewish turned from the back of the den where she had been sorting a pile of freshly gathered herbs. “While it’s quiet, we should take advantage of the sunshine,” she meowed, “and spread these herbs out to dry. It could start raining again at any time.”
At once Rootpaw sprang to his paws. “Sure, I’ll help,” he offered, pleased at the chance to get out of the medicine cats’ den.
“Not you, Rootpaw.” Frecklewish ordered him back with a wave of her tail. “You need to keep memorizing those herbs!”
While she and Fidgetflake began transporting the fresh herbs out into the sunlight, Rootpaw headed for the niches at the back of the den where the dried supplies were kept. He tried to remember what the medicine cats had taught him about how to identify each herb, what it was used for, and where it was stored.