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  Growling to himself, Alderheart padded to a crevice in the bramble wall of the den where Puddleshine kept his herb store. He might as well make himself useful and sort through Puddleshine’s herbs. Reaching in, he scooped out the dried bundles and separated the leaves, making piles for each herb. Some crumbled in his paws; others were stiff and dry. It had clearly been a while since Puddleshine last collected fresh stores, before he got his infection. Carefully, Alderheart began to strip out the driest herbs—herbs that could no longer hold healing powers—and lay them to one side.

  “What are you doing?” Cloverfoot thrust her head into the den. Her nose twitched. “Do you need those?” Her eyes sparked with indignation as she saw the leaves laid out in front of Alderheart.

  He met her gaze levelly. “I’m clearing out the useless herbs.”

  “How do I know you’re not destroying Puddleshine’s stocks?” she snapped.

  “Why would I do that?” Alderheart glared at her. “I’m a medicine cat, not a warrior. I don’t want to harm any cat.”

  Cloverfoot’s gaze flicked toward Puddleshine. “What about him? You fed him deathberries.”

  “To cure him.” Alderheart snorted. “Do you seriously think I’d try to kill your medicine cat?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “If we lose him, the whole of ShadowClan will suffer.”

  “That’s why I’m trying to save him,” Alderheart hissed. “And because he’s a friend. But you’re not a medicine cat. You wouldn’t understand the bond we share.”

  She eyed him wordlessly for a moment, then slid into the den. “Perhaps I don’t understand,” she meowed, “but I’m going to watch you sort those herbs, just to make sure you don’t ruin them.”

  Scorchfur peered through the entrance. “Is everything okay in there?”

  “It’s fine,” Cloverfoot told him. “I’m just watching Alderheart sort herbs.”

  Alderheart forced his fur to stay flat as Scorchfur withdrew and Cloverfoot sat down at the edge of the den and stared at him. Slowly he carried on picking out useless herbs. “You need to gather more thyme,” he told Cloverfoot without looking up. “These leaves are so dry, there can’t be much strength left in them.”

  “How do I know what thyme looks like?” Cloverfoot mewed testily.

  “It looks like this.” He pushed a stalk toward her. “Sniff it. The smell is unmistakable.” He returned to the other leaves. “Fresh watermint will be sprouting soon. You should gather some of that too. And borage, and nettles . . .” He met her gaze. “You do know what nettles look like, I assume?”

  “Of course I know,” she snapped. “But I’m a warrior! I don’t gather herbs.”

  “Once Puddleshine’s fever has broken, you can escort me into the forest and I can gather some for you.” Alderheart unwrapped a dock leaf and sniffed the stale poppy seeds inside. “Puddleshine will be weak for some time, even when the sickness eases.”

  As he spoke, the den entrance rustled. Stonewing limped into the shadowy den. “Scorchfur said it would be all right to come in.” His gaze slid nervously toward Puddleshine. “Is he okay?”

  “Does he look okay?” Alderheart snapped.

  Stonewing blinked at him uneasily. He lifted up a forepaw. “I’ve got a thorn in my pad.”

  Cloverfoot glowered at the white tom. “Can’t you get it out yourself?”

  “It’s in deep.” Stonewing shuddered.

  Alderheart padded forward. He sniffed the wound. The thorn was firmly embedded in Stonewing’s pad. “It will need herbs to stop it getting infected.” He touched the hard root of the thorn with his tongue, tasting the blood that welled around it. “I can pull it out,” he told Stonewing, “but it will hurt.”

  Stonewing’s whiskers trembled.

  “Once it’s out, it will feel a lot better.” Alderheart caught Cloverfoot’s eye. She looked suspicious. “I think I can get it out, if you’ll let me try?”

  Cloverfoot hesitated.

  “I don’t want to go lame,” Stonewing told her. “Anyway, it’s my paw. I say let him try.”

  Cloverfoot shrugged. “Okay,” she agreed. “I just hope you don’t end up like Puddleshine.”

  Alderheart ignored her and felt gingerly for the thorn with his teeth. He gripped it and tugged, gently at first and then, when he felt it give, more sharply. It slid out of Stonewing’s pad with a rush of blood.

  Alderheart dropped the thorn on the ground. “Give your paw a good wash while I find some marigold,” he told the white tom.

  Stonewing was already lapping fiercely at his pad, his pelt smoothing as pain gave way to relief.

  Alderheart lapped up a few crumbling leaves of marigold and chewed them; then he padded back to Stonewing and licked the poultice into the wound. “Leave the marigold there for a day; then keep the wound clean.”

  Stonewing nodded, gratitude brimming in his dark blue gaze.

  Cloverfoot shifted at the edge of the den. “I guess you might as well handle Puddleshine’s duties while you’re here,” she grunted as Stonewing limped out.

  Alderheart didn’t respond, moving instead to check on Puddleshine. The other medicine cat still hadn’t stirred. Alderheart washed the damp fur around his neck. Please get better. Surely the deathberries had to work soon. He mustn’t lose Puddleshine. Even without Tigerstar’s threat, such a loss was too dreadful to think about. He’d told Cloverfoot the truth: The ShadowClan medicine cat was his friend. But how long could Puddleshine last with this fever?

  “Cloverfoot?” Scorchfur’s mew sounded at the entrance. “Berryheart’s outside with Hollowkit. She says Hollowkit has a cough. Shall I let them in?”

  Cloverfoot blinked at Alderheart. “Is it safe in here for a kit?”

  Alderheart bristled. “Do you think I’d harm a kit?”

  Cloverfoot nodded toward Puddleshine. “I mean, he’s not contagious, is he?”

  “Of course not.” Alderheart sniffed. “They can come in.”

  Cloverfoot shifted to one side as Berryheart nudged Hollowkit into the den.

  The black-and-white queen blinked hopefully at Alderheart as Hollowkit coughed beside her. “He’s been sick for a few days,” she meowed.

  The black kit’s cough sounded dry. “Is your throat sore?” Alderheart asked him gently.

  “Only when I swallow.” Hollowkit shifted closer to his mother and glanced at Puddleshine. “Is he going to die? Yarrowleaf says you tried to poison him.”

  Alderheart blinked at the kit. “A medicine cat would never harm any cat.” He turned and grabbed a tansy stem between his teeth and dropped it at Berryheart’s paws. “This should ease it,” he told her. “Get him to chew a mouthful before he goes to sleep and another when he wakes.” He sniffed the kit’s head. There was no heat there. “Has he had any fever?”

  “No.” Berryheart pulled the tansy closer. “Just the cough.”

  “Good.” Alderheart looked into Hollowkit’s eyes. They were clear. “It’s just a cough left over from leaf-bare. It’ll be gone in a day or two. Keep him away from the other kits, but if they haven’t caught it by now, they’ll probably be fine.”

  “Spirekit and Sunkit are already sleeping with Yarrowleaf’s kits,” Berryheart told him.

  Alderheart blinked approvingly.

  Berryheart dipped her head. “Thanks for the tansy.” She picked up the stem and led Hollowkit from the den. As she passed Cloverfoot, Alderheart saw the two cats exchange glances. Then Cloverfoot’s gaze flicked back to him. For the first time he saw respect there.

  He nodded at her and returned to his herb pile.

  “Alderheart!”

  An alarmed yowl jerked him from sleep. He opened his eyes into darkness. It took a moment for him to remember where he was. The sour smell of Puddleshine told him that he was in the ShadowClan medicine den. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep! He glanced quickly at Puddleshine, relieved to see that the tom was still breathing, albeit shallowly. He’d planned to watch him through the night.

  Cloverfoot had
dropped off ages ago. She lurched awake now, blinking. “What is it?”

  As she scrambled to her paws, Yarrowleaf burst through the entrance. “Bring Alderheart!” The ginger she-cat’s eyes were wide with concern.

  Scorchfur stumbled after her, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Shadowkit . . .” She stared desperately at Alderheart.

  “I’m coming.” He raced past her into the clearing. Shadows striped the camp.

  Tigerstar was outside the nursery, his pelt bristling with fear. “He’s in here.”

  Alderheart pelted past him and burst into the bramble den. Moonlight filtered through the roof, enough for him to tell Dovewing’s nest from the others. The pale gray she-cat crouched there, staring with horror at a small shape beneath her. Pouncekit and Lightkit cowered with the other kits at the side of the den. As Alderheart leaned over the edge of Dovewing’s nest, Berryheart hustled them outside.

  Shadowkit was twitching at the bottom of the nest, his head flicking back and forth as spasms gripped his body.

  “How long has he been like this?” Alderheart asked Dovewing.

  “Not long. I sent Yarrowleaf to fetch you as soon as it started.”

  “We have to hold him still until it passes.” He reached quickly into the nest and gripped the kit’s legs. “Cradle his head firmly to stop it from moving,” he told Dovewing.

  Tigerstar pressed beside him. The dark tabby’s fur spiked against Alderheart’s pelt, and he could feel the ShadowClan leader trembling.

  “Hold his shoulders,” he told Tigerstar.

  As Tigerstar reached into the nest, Alderheart glimpsed Cloverfoot peering into the nursery. Relief swamped him. “Do you remember the thyme I showed you?” he called to her.

  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Fetch some,” he ordered. “Bring the freshest stalks.” He turned back to Dovewing. “Has he been ill? Any fever? A cough?” What could explain such a fit?

  Dovewing shook her head.

  “He’s had fits before,” Tigerstar growled.

  Shadowkit twitched violently beneath Alderheart’s paws.

  “We’ve seen this before.” Dovewing didn’t take her eyes from her kit. “When we were on our way back to the lake, he would have visions—they came with seizures like this. We had thought they were getting better.” Her voice dropped to an anxious murmur. “But, if anything, they’re getting worse . . .”

  Beneath the steadying paws, Shadowkit’s spasms eased. Alderheart thrust his muzzle close, relieved to feel the kit’s breath on his nose. Heat pulsed from his thin pelt. “When he stops twitching, wash him to cool him down.” Alderheart felt Shadowkit’s legs grow still. He sat back on his haunches. “I don’t know how to prevent the seizures, but thyme will ease his shock.”

  The entrance trembled as Cloverfoot slid through. She dropped two stalks of thyme beside Alderheart. Alderheart bent to nip leaves from the stems so he could chew them into a pulp that Shadowkit could swallow.

  “Wait.” Tigerstar nudged him away and sniffed the leaves.

  Dovewing stared at Tigerstar in disbelief. “Don’t you trust him?”

  Cloverfoot edged forward. “You can trust him,” she mewed softly. “He treated Stonewing and Hollowkit earlier. He seemed to know what he was doing. I watched him. He only wants to help.”

  Tigerstar narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  Alderheart ignored him. “The thyme will soothe him,” he told Dovewing. “When he comes around, chew up a few leaves—”

  “And make him swallow them,” Dovewing murmured. “I remember Puddleshine giving him thyme before.”

  Alderheart gave a nod. “If he has fits in the future, just hold him so he’s safe and cool him down as much as you can.”

  With a final twitch, Shadowkit fell limp at the bottom of the nest like a leaf coming to rest after a storm. Dovewing bent to lick him as Tigerstar shook out his pelt. The ShadowClan leader smoothed his ruffled fur with a few laps, but Alderheart could still smell the brown tabby’s fear-scent. His pelt prickled with frustration. Until I know what caused the kit’s convulsions, I can only treat the symptoms.

  A small mew sounded in the nest. “Dovewing?” Shadowkit slowly opened his eyes and gazed at his mother.

  She buried her nose in the soft fur behind his ear. “Are you okay?” she asked, a break in her mew. “You scared us.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Shadowkit rolled onto his paws and pushed himself up. Weakly he blinked at Tigerstar. “I had another vision.”

  Dovewing reached for the thyme and began chewing the leaves. “Eat this.” She held her muzzle close to Shadowkit’s.

  He ducked away from her. “Not until I’ve told you about my vision.”

  Dovewing and Tigerstar exchanged anxious glances.

  “Go and check on the kits,” Tigerstar told Cloverfoot. He flicked his tail, and she dipped her head and left. Alderheart was burning with curiosity. Was StarClan sending a message through Shadowkit? Tigerstar looked at him. “You’d better leave too.”

  Alderheart dug his claws into the needle-strewn floor. “I’m a medicine cat. I should hear this.”

  Tigerstar growled. “You’re a ThunderClan medicine—”

  Shadowkit cut him off. “Can he stay? He’s a medicine cat—he might know what it means.”

  Dovewing nodded. “He should stay,” she agreed.

  Tigerstar shifted his paws. “Okay.” His dark gaze fixed on Shadowkit. “What did you see?”

  “It was raining on RiverClan land.” The kit’s mew was weak. Dovewing pressed against him, supporting him with her flank as he went on. “I was in the marshes there, and the rain kept getting heavier and heavier. The sky was black with clouds, and I could barely see the trees for the rain. It got worse until I could feel water pressing against my fur, in my ears, in my nose.” The kit shivered, fear showing in his eyes. “It was in my mouth. I couldn’t breathe and then” —as he paused again, Dovewing wrapped her tail around him with a sob—“everything went black.”

  Dread ran like icy water along Alderheart’s spine. He stared at the kit, his mouth dry.

  “What does it mean?” Shadowkit blinked at him.

  “I’m not sure.” Alderheart shifted his paws uneasily. “It might just be a nightmare brought on by the fit.”

  “Of course,” Dovewing mewed brightly. She settled into her nest and pulled Shadowkit protectively against her belly. “It was just a dumb nightmare.”

  “It didn’t feel like a nightmare,” Shadowkit whimpered.

  “Eat the thyme,” Alderheart told him. “And rest with Dovewing. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “My head hurts.” Shadowkit’s eyes were dark.

  “I’ll fetch some poppy seeds. They’ll ease the pain.” Alderheart staggered out of the den, his mind swimming and his legs quivering, as if they could barely hold him up. He could think of only one meaning for Shadowkit’s vision, and it filled him with dread.

  The kit was going to die.

  “Was it just a nightmare?” Tigerstar’s mew startled him. The ShadowClan leader had followed him out and was staring at him in the moonlight.

  Alderheart tensed. “I hope so.”

  Tigerstar narrowed his eyes. “But you think it meant something else.”

  Alderheart dropped his gaze. How do you tell a father that his kit has seen his own death? “I-I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “Is he going to drown, like Flametail?” Grief glittered in the ShadowClan leader’s eyes, the fur around his neck spiking. Alderheart knew it must be hard for Tigerstar to remember his brother, who had fallen through the ice on the lake and been trapped there.

  “I can’t predict the future.” Alderheart’s belly tightened. “But he did see something dark. Something that must be avoided.”

  “His own death?”

  Alderheart tore his gaze away from the stricken leader. It frightened him to see such a strong cat so scared. “I don’t know.” How coul
d he tell Tigerstar he might be right? And what if Shadowkit’s vision did come true? Tigerstar was already threatening to destabilize the Clans by putting pressure on SkyClan. With a shiver, he wondered what terrible vengeance a grieving father would wreak upon the forest.

  CHAPTER 11

  Twigbranch glanced anxiously around the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of Finleap’s pelt. Overhead, sunshine flickered between the branches. As she breathed the musty scents of the forest, a soft breeze swirled dead leaves around her paws.

  “Have you seen Finleap?” Flypaw looked at her eagerly.

  “He went out early.” Twigbranch’s ears twitched uneasily. It was midmorning and Finleap had still not come home. But Flypaw seemed unconcerned. Her gaze was flitting around the forest, alighting one moment on a leaf fluttering in the morning breeze, another moment on a bird as it hopped along a branch overhead.

  “Snappaw says he was supposed to do battle training with Finleap this morning, but Finleap wasn’t even in his nest.” Flypaw darted forward and slapped her paws down to trap a quivering fern stem.

  “He left before dawn.” Twigbranch hated lying, but she wanted to protect Finleap until she’d had a chance to find out where he’d gone. She’d brought Flypaw along the beech trail this morning because it still smelled of Finleap’s scent. He must have come this way yesterday, before he disappeared. Her paws pricked with worry. Should she report him missing? Perhaps he needed help. If we don’t find him before sunhigh, I’ll tell Bramblestar he’s gone.

  She tasted the air. Finleap’s scent trail lingered here, but it was stale. Narrowing her eyes, she peered through the shafts of sunshine, which slanted between the trees, and scanned the forest. Her heart ached for a glimpse of his brown pelt. Where is he?

  “Twigbranch?” Flypaw looked up from the fern stem she’d captured.

  “Yes?” Twigbranch dragged her attention back to her apprentice.