“I hope so, too,” Harestar added. “I have lost a prized warrior and deputy, but we still struggle to feed our Clan. I believe our suffering will be rewarded when StarClan appears to us again, ready to help us through our difficult times. I’ve always respected you, Bramblestar, and I’ll do as you say.”
Silence fell again, as if the remaining two leaders were unwilling to speak. Bramblestar turned his head and fixed Leafstar with a hard stare.
“SkyClan has always served StarClan, and has always followed the code,” she responded, meeting the impostor’s gaze confidently. “We will not stop now.”
With a curt nod, Bramblestar turned to Tigerstar, who crouched on his branch, fixing the ThunderClan leader with a menacing glare.
“ShadowClan follows the warrior code, and always will,” he snapped. “I don’t need you to watch over me.”
“ShadowClan follows the code?” Bramblestar sneered. “When you haven’t even exiled the codebreaker in your Clan? How can you—”
“Dovewing atoned!” Tigerstar interrupted, raising his voice to a yowl. “And I will not be told how to handle discipline within my own Clan. ShadowClan will enforce the code.” His last few words were spat out. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“This isn’t about words.” The false Bramblestar was unsettlingly calm. “It’s about actions. Maybe the attack on me was only the first of many. This will be a long battle, and in enforcing the code we will make enemies. But the Clans must agree that we’re all in this together.”
Murmurs of agreement and support came from the other leaders and the assembled warriors. But as Bristlefrost gazed around at the crowd, all she could see was how many beloved, valued cats were missing.
Squirrelflight, Crowfeather, Mothwing, both ThunderClan medicine cats. But they’ll be back, Bristlefrost promised herself. The rebels may have lost the first battle . . . but I have to believe that they’ll win the war. Will I even be part of it, though? What if they think I betrayed them? Since being named deputy, Bristlefrost hadn’t had a chance to slip away and speak to the rebels, but she was afraid they must be blaming her for protecting Bramblestar.
As these thoughts passed through her mind, Bristlefrost spotted Rootspring across the clearing. For a moment their gazes locked. Rootspring looked completely shattered; he blinked once, then turned his head away.
Does he think I’m a traitor? Bristlefrost wondered, her throat clenching. Do they all?
On the day after the Gathering, Bristlefrost was dropping a blackbird on the fresh-kill pile when she was startled by a yowl of pain coming from the medicine cat’s den. She whirled around, then raced across the camp and brushed past the bramble screen into the den.
Inside, Flipclaw was struggling to bind a poultice onto Shellfur’s paw, but Shellfur was pulling away, scattering leaves and cobwebs over the den floor.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Flipclaw mewed frantically. “If you’d just keep still—”
“You don’t even know what you’re doing!” Shellfur screeched in despair. “It’s just getting worse!”
Flipclaw turned away, and Bristlefrost could tell from his desperate expression that her brother knew Shellfur was right.
Paw steps sounded behind Bristlefrost, who turned to see Sparkpelt pushing the brambles aside as she entered. “What in StarClan’s name is going on?” the orange tabby she-cat demanded.
Bristlefrost’s pelt tingled with apprehension. It would have to be Sparkpelt who walked in, she thought. I know she’s grieving for Squirrelflight, but she doesn’t have to claw every cat’s ears off!
“Shellfur’s paw was wounded when he was defending Bramblestar,” Flipclaw explained. “And now it’s infected. I keep applying cobwebs and a poultice made of dried oak leaves, but it’s not getting better! Shellfur has a fever now.”
“Oak leaves?” Sparkpelt asked. “Isn’t that for preventing infection? I remember Alderheart treating my wound with oak leaves once, but when infection set in, he switched to marigold.”
Flipclaw stared at her, stunned. “I didn’t know about marigold,” he murmured. “I thought oak leaves were used to treat infections.”
Sparkpelt’s tail lashed, and her fur bushed up until she looked twice her size. “You weren’t even trained!” she snarled, glaring at Flipclaw. “How are you supposed to save cats’ lives when you can’t even treat an infected wound?”
Bristlefrost cringed in sympathy with her brother, especially when Flipclaw didn’t try to defend himself. He bowed his head, giving his chest fur a couple of miserable licks.
“That’s not fair!” Bristlefrost protested, her whiskers bristling with indignation. “Flipclaw didn’t ask for this. It’s not his fault he isn’t trained.”
“I’m sorry,” Sparkpelt sighed, letting her fur lie flat again. “You’re right, Bristlefrost. It’s not his fault.” Glancing past the bramble screen into the camp, she added, “It’s not your fault at all, Flipclaw. Come with me.”
Flipclaw followed her as she strode out into the open and came to a halt below the Highledge. “Bramblestar!” she yowled. “Come down here! I need a word with you.”
Bristlefrost padded out and stood a few tail-lengths away, her pelt tingling with apprehension at how Bramblestar might react. Flipclaw looked completely terrified at Sparkpelt’s disrespectful tone.
But the impostor looked almost amused as he leaped lazily down the tumbled rocks and strolled up to face Sparkpelt. “Yes?” he rumbled.
“We can’t go on like this, Bramblestar,” Sparkpelt meowed. “Whatever strange dreams Flipclaw had, he isn’t trained, and a Clan can’t function without a trained medicine cat. Do you realize that Shellfur has an infection raging out of control from a simple wound in his paw? Poor Flipclaw’s inexperience is threatening cats’ lives!”
In response, Bramblestar just blinked at her; Bristlefrost guessed that he hadn’t known, but he didn’t much care, either.
“I know you had disagreements with Alderheart and Jayfeather,” Sparkpelt went on. “But surely you can understand that we need a real medicine cat, for the good of the Clan? At the very least, let Brightheart help him until he gets the hang of it! You’ve always been a caring leader,” she added, her voice softening. “Please, won’t you reconsider? I’m asking you not as a warrior, but as your daughter.”
But you’re not his daughter, Bristlefrost thought, suppressing a shiver.
“You make an interesting point,” Bramblestar replied; he sounded quite detached, unaffected by Sparkpelt’s appeal to their kinship. “Bristlefrost, what do you think?”
Reluctantly Bristlefrost padded forward. By this time more warriors were gathering around, wanting to know what the fuss was about, and she felt they might be testing her, waiting for her to put a paw wrong as deputy.
“I understand what Sparkpelt means,” she replied to Bramblestar. “Would you like me to look for Alderheart or Jayfeather?”
“Not just yet,” Bramblestar told her, with a lash of his tail. “True, a good medicine cat is one component of a strong Clan, but there’s another, far more important one: loyalty.”
Bristlefrost cringed inwardly, because she knew where the impostor’s words came from. She remembered what she had told him when he was grieving for Squirrelflight: that he’d need to depend on loyal warriors.
I meant the exiled ones. But clearly, he took it differently.