Эрин Хантер - Veil Of Shadows

At least Twigbranch knows about the exiles’ camp on ShadowClan territory, she reflected. And Alderheart can be reunited with his mother. . . .

With the departure of the three exiles, the meeting was at an end, and the crowd of cats split up into small groups, their heads together as they whispered their disbelief. Bristlefrost exchanged a glance with her mother, Ivypool, and wondered whether she should tell her the truth—about the rebel cats, about everything.

Maybe Bramblestar is beyond control now, she thought despairingly. Maybe it’s time I took my family and escaped to the exiles’ camp. . . .

Bristlefrost took a hesitant step toward her mother, only to be intercepted by Bramblestar, who came bounding up to her. “I want to talk to you, Bristlefrost,” he announced. “You’re the only one I can trust. Follow me.”

He headed for the thorn tunnel, and Bristlefrost had no choice but to obey him, warily treading in his paw steps as they entered the forest. Bramblestar seemed on edge, casting nervous glances in all directions and sometimes whipping around as if he was facing some imaginary threat.

“I’ve heard rumors some cats are working against me,” he told Bristlefrost, leading her into the shelter of a hazel thicket. “I want to know what you think, Bristlefrost.”

A chill crept through Bristlefrost from ears to tail-tip. Does he know the truth, she asked herself, that I’m one of those cats? These days Bramblestar seemed so erratic that she wouldn’t be surprised if he suspected every cat, whether he had evidence or not.

Her chill deepened as she realized that she had followed him into a dark part of the forest. If he wanted to make her disappear, like Shadowsight, this would be a good place.

“I have my doubts about Berrynose,” Bramblestar went on. “Surely all that loyalty must be an act—don’t you think so?”

At his words, Bristlefrost became a little reassured. She realized that Bramblestar truly had no idea what was going on, and was genuinely anxious for her opinion.

“Well,” she began, “I don’t really know—”

She broke off with a gasp of horror as a group of cats slipped out of the undergrowth, creeping toward Bramblestar as quietly as if they were stalking a mouse. Death glinted in their eyes and on their outstretched claws.

Stemleaf and Spotfur . . . oh, and Conefoot, Kitescratch, and Dappletuft! What are they doing? They promised Tigerstar they wouldn’t kill Bramblestar!

Her gasp alerted Bramblestar, who spun around before the rebel cats could reach him, and let out a yowl as he leaped at his attackers. They sprang forward, letting out earsplitting shrieks and swarming closer in a circle of teeth and claws.

For a moment, Bristlefrost stood frozen, staring at the whirling group of cats. She caught Stemleaf’s gaze, knowing he would expect her to fight at his side, but at the same moment Bramblestar screeched out her name.

“Bristlefrost—get help! There must be a patrol nearby!”

Her heart pounding, Bristlefrost fled through the trees, back toward the camp. Who should I be helping? she asked herself. She didn’t want Bramblestar killed; there would be no chance of getting the real Bramblestar back if his body was destroyed. And I promised Squirrelflight I would protect him. But at the same time she didn’t want Stemleaf and the other rebels to be wounded in a fight. There’s no way to win!

Too shocked and fearful to listen or taste the air for signs of a patrol, Bristlefrost had almost reached the camp when she spotted Berrynose, bounding out of the thorn tunnel and looking around with alarm in his eyes.

“Did you hear anything?” he asked Bristlefrost as she raced up to him. “I thought I heard Bramblestar yowl.”

Bristlefrost was suddenly sure of what she should do. “Yes, some cats attacked Bramblestar,” she replied. “And there may be more attackers coming. We have to help Bramblestar and get him out of there before we’re overwhelmed.”

Maybe I can get Berrynose to focus on saving Bramblestar—and his body—not fighting against the rebels.

Berrynose paused for a heartbeat, staring at Bristlefrost in consternation, then spun around and raced back through the thorn tunnel. Bristlefrost heard his voice raised in a yowl to summon more warriors.

Moments later Berrynose was back, with Dewnose, Sorrelstripe, and Snaptooth hard on his paws. “Lead the way!” Berrynose snapped at Bristlefrost.

As Bristlefrost pelted through the forest, the screeches and snarls of battle grew louder in her ears. As she burst out into the open, she saw that Shellfur and Leafshade had appeared and were fighting shoulder to shoulder with Bramblestar.

They must be the patrol Bramblestar told me to find.

She noticed too that there were fewer of the rebels than she had thought at first. As soon as she appeared with Berrynose and the others, Spotfur and Kitescratch backed away, staring at them in dismay, then spun around and fled.

Bramblestar turned toward his rescuers, his chest heaving and his muzzle covered with blood. While Berrynose and the rest of his warriors surrounded him, Bristlefrost noticed the blood streaking the grass and pooling in the hollows; the reek of it caught her in the throat. And she saw the three limp bundles of fur lying motionless in the middle of it.

Conefoot . . . Dappletuft . . . and—oh, no, it’s Stemleaf!

Bristlefrost bounded over to the white-and-orange tom, stretching out a paw to rouse him. But she halted before she could touch him, staring down into his open, lifeless eyes. “No . . . ,” she whispered.

She remembered her time as an apprentice, when she had filled her mind with pictures of what her life would be like with Stemleaf as her mate. Everything would have been so different if he could have loved her back, and if Bramblestar had never died and come back as whoever or whatever he was now. . . .

Dimly Bristlefrost became aware that Bramblestar was speaking to her, but all she could hear was a whirring in her head, as if she had thrust herself into an enormous nest of bees. Her legs wouldn’t support her anymore; she felt herself falling, and a soft surge of darkness enfolded her.

“Oh, thank StarClan you’re awake!”

Bristlefrost blinked, and the familiar outlines of the medicine-cat den swam into focus around her. Flipclaw was bending over her, his eyes full of relief.

“I’m pretty sure those were thyme leaves I gave you, and not daisy,” he chattered on. “I’m always mixing those up. But you’re awake now, and getting over the shock, so I must have gotten it right. Anyway, even if it was daisy leaves, they would just make sure your joints don’t ache, so it’s not like they would harm you. . . .”

As he finished speaking, Brightheart stepped forward from the shadows. “Don’t worry, Bristlefrost,” she mewed, her one good eye shining with sympathy. “And Flipclaw, don’t forget that I checked the leaves, too. Bristlefrost will be fine.”

Bristlefrost gazed up at her, confused. “I never knew you were a medicine cat.”

“I’m not,” Brightheart explained. “But way back, Cinderpelt taught me the basics of healing, and I won’t let Flipclaw hurt any cat.”

“Thank StarClan,” Bristlefrost murmured feebly. “And thank you, Brightheart.” Reaching out to put a paw over Flipclaw’s, she added, “What happened?”

Brightheart’s eye darkened and she backed away, while Flipclaw’s expression grew suddenly somber. “How much do you remember?” he asked his sister.

Bristlefrost struggled with the fog in her mind, thinking back until the picture of the battle’s aftermath grew bright and horrific in her memory. Her belly convulsed and she retched, vomit rising into her throat. “I think . . . I think Stemleaf is dead,” she whispered when she could speak again.