by Erin Hunter
Firestar felt choked with emotion and shook himself briskly. Padding around the Highrock to the den entrance, he heard movement inside. Thornpaw, the oldest apprentice, whirled around as Firestar went in.
“Oh Firestar!” he exclaimed. “Whitestorm told me to fetch you some new bedding—and some fresh-kill.” He flicked his tail to the far side of the den, where a rabbit lay beside a thick pile of moss and heather.
“That looks great, Thornpaw,” Firestar meowed. “Thank you—and thank Whitestorm for me.”
The ginger apprentice dipped his head and started to leave, only to halt as Firestar called him back.
“Remind Mousefur to have a word with me tomorrow,” Firestar mewed, naming Thornpaw’s mentor. “It’s about time we started thinking about your warrior ceremony.” It’s long overdue, he reflected. Thornpaw had proved himself an able apprentice, and would have been a warrior moons ago but for Bluestar’s reluctance to trust any of her Clan. He was the only one left of the group that had included Swiftpaw and Lostface, neither of whom would ever experience a warrior ceremony.
Thornpaw’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Yes, Firestar! Thanks!” he meowed, and dashed off.
Firestar settled himself in the mossy nest and took a few mouthfuls of the rabbit. It had been thoughtful of Whitestorm to have the bedding changed, though Firestar still felt that Bluestar’s scent lingered in the very walls of the den. Perhaps it always would, and that was no bad thing. There was pain in his memories of her, but comfort too, when he thought of her wisdom and her courage in leading her Clan.
Shadows gathered around him as the last of the light died. Firestar was acutely conscious of being completely alone for the first time since joining the Clan: no warmth of other cats sleeping close by, no soft meows and purrs as his friends shared tongues, no gentle snoring or the sound of cats shifting in their dreams. For a few heartbeats he felt lonelier than ever.
Then he told himself to stop being so mouse-brained. He had an important decision to make, and it was vital for ThunderClan that he get it right. His choice of deputy would affect the life of the Clan for seasons to come.
Settling deeper into the moss, he wondered whether he ought to sleep now, and ask Spottedleaf in a dream which cat would be the right deputy. He closed his eyes and almost at once he caught a trace of Spottedleaf’s sweet scent. But no vision came; he could see only darkness.
Then he heard a whisper in his ear, filled with Spottedleaf’s gentle teasing. “Oh, no, Firestar. This is your decision.”
Sighing, Firestar opened his eyes again. “All right, Spottedleaf,” he mewed aloud. “I’ll decide.”
The deputy could not be Graystripe, that was clear, and Firestar was grateful to his friend for making that part of his choice easy for him. He let his mind drift over the other possible cats. The new deputy would have to be experienced, and a cat whose loyalty had never been questioned. Sandstorm was brave and intelligent, and choosing her would reassure her more than anything else that Firestar still valued her and wanted her at his side.
But that was not the right reason to choose a deputy. Besides, the warrior code dictated that no cat could be deputy without having been a mentor first. Sandstorm had never had an apprentice, so Firestar could not choose her. With a prickle of shame, he recognized that that was his own fault, because he had given Tawnypaw to Brackenfur to mentor, even though Sandstorm had been the obvious choice. He had done it to protect her, afraid that the mentors of Tigerstar’s kits would be in danger from their bloodthirsty father. It had taken Sandstorm a long time to forgive him, and Firestar hoped she would never realize that his previous mistake had prevented her from being deputy now.
But was Sandstorm really the right choice anyway? Surely there was one cat who towered over all the other possibilities? Whitestorm was experienced, wise, and brave. When Firestar had been made deputy, he had shown not a scrap of the resentment that a lesser cat might have felt. He had supported him from the beginning, and he was the cat Firestar naturally turned to when he needed advice. He was old, yes, but still strong and active. There were a good few moons left before he would be joining the elders in their den.
Bluestar would approve, too, for the white warrior’s friendship had meant a great deal to her in her last moons.
Yes, Firestar thought. Whitestorm will be the new deputy. He stretched in satisfaction. All that remained was to announce the decision to the Clan.
Firestar waited for a while, finishing the rabbit, drowsing but not letting himself fall into deep sleep in case he missed moonhigh. Silver light seeped into the den as the moon rose. Eventually he got to his paws, shook the scraps of moss from his fur, and padded out into the clearing.
Several of the Clan were pacing among the ferns at the edge, obviously waiting for the announcement. Sandstorm and the evening patrol had returned and were eating their share of the fresh-kill. Firestar flicked his tail in greeting to the ginger she-cat, but did not go over to speak to her. Instead he sprang up onto the Highrock and yowled, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”
His summons was still ringing in the air when more cats began to appear, slipping from the shelter of their dens or padding into the moonlight from the shadows around the edges of the camp. Firestar saw Darkstripe stalk into the open and sit a few tail-lengths away from the rock, his tail wrapped around his paws and a scornful look in his eyes. Unobtrusively, Brackenfur followed him and took up a position close by.
Bramblepaw emerged from the apprentices’ den; Firestar couldn’t help wondering if he would go over to Darkstripe, but he stayed with his sister, Tawnypaw, near the edge of the gathering crowd. The eyes of both apprentices were watchful, flicking back and forth. As Mousefur walked past them she snapped at Tawnypaw, and the younger she-cat turned her head away sharply, as if she and Mousefur had disagreed over something. Tawnypaw was bright and very confident, Firestar reflected; he wouldn’t be surprised if she offended the experienced warriors now and then.
Sandstorm and Graystripe were sitting together near the rock, close to Cloudtail and Lostface, and the elders all came out in a group and settled down in the center of the clearing.
Firestar saw Whitestorm strolling over from the nettle patch with Cinderpelt. There was no air of anticipation about him as he stopped for a quick word with Fernpaw and Ashpaw before taking his own place beside the Highrock.
Swallowing his nervousness, Firestar began. “The time has come to appoint a new deputy.” Pausing, he felt the presence of Bluestar very close to him as he remembered the ritual words she used to speak. “I say these words before StarClan,” he continued, “that the spirits of our ancestors may hear and approve my choice.”
By now all the cats had turned their faces up to him; he looked down at their eyes gleaming in the moonlight and could almost taste their excitement.
“Whitestorm will be the new deputy of ThunderClan,” he announced.
For a heartbeat there was silence. Whitestorm was blinking up at Firestar, a look of pleasure and surprise spreading over his face. Firestar realized that the surprise was part of what he liked so much about the old warrior; Whitestorm had never assumed that he would be the one chosen.
Slowly he rose to his paws. “Firestar, cats of ThunderClan,” he meowed, “I never expected to be given this honor. I swear by StarClan that I will do all I can to serve you.”
As he finished speaking, sound gradually swelled from the assembled cats, a mixture of yowls and purrs and voices calling, “Whitestorm!” All the Clan began to press around the white warrior, congratulating him. Firestar knew that he had made a very popular choice.
For a few moments he remained on the Highrock and watched. A new feeling of optimism surged through his paws, filling him with confidence and warmth. He had his nine lives; he had the best deputy a cat could wish for; and he had a team of warriors who were ready to face anything. The threat of the pack was over: Firestar had to believe that soon they wo
uld be able to drive Tigerstar out of the forest for good.
Then, just as he was poised to leap down and offer his own good wishes to Whitestorm, he caught sight of Darkstripe. He alone of all the cats had not moved or spoken. He was staring up at Firestar, and his eyes burned with cold fire.
Firestar was instantly reminded of the dreadful vision in the ceremony, the hill of bones and the tide of blood that had flowed from it. Bluestar’s words rang in his ears again: Four will become two. Lion and tiger will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest.
Firestar still did not know what the prophecy meant, but the words were laden with doom. There would be battle and bloodshed. And in Darkstripe’s malignant stare, Firestar seemed to see the first cloud that would eventually unleash the storm of war.
CHAPTER 7
A raw, damp cold pushed its way through Firestar’s fur as he padded through Tallpines. The sky was heavy with gray cloud and seemed undecided between sending rain or snow onto the forest. Here, where the ravages of the fire had been worst, ash still covered the ground, and the few plants that had begun to grow back had shriveled again with the coming of leaf-bare.
It was the day after his announcement to the Clan, and Firestar had left his new deputy in charge of the camp while he patrolled the border alone. He wanted some time by himself, to get used to being leader and to think about what lay ahead. Sometimes he felt he would burst with the pride of being chosen by StarClan to lead ThunderClan, but he also knew it would not be easy. Grief for Bluestar was a dull ache that would stay with him forever. And he was afraid of what Tigerstar might do next. Firestar could not be comforted, as the other cats were, by the absence of any traces of ShadowClan in their territory. He knew Tigerstar would not rest until he had brought his enemy down—and news that Firestar was now the leader of ThunderClan would only fuel the fires of his revenge.
Firestar emerged from the trees near Twolegplace and looked up at Princess’s fence to see if his sister had ventured out of her Twoleg nest. But there was no sign of her, and when he drank in the air he caught only a faint scent. Padding along the edge of the trees, Firestar came to a part of the forest he rarely visited, and recognized the Twoleg nest where he himself had lived as a kittypet, so many moons ago. Overcome by curiosity, he darted across the stretch of open ground at the edge of the trees and leaped to the top of the fence.
Memories of playing there as a kit flooded over him as he looked down at the stretch of grass bordered by Twoleg plants. There was a more recent memory, too, of coming here to find catnip when Bluestar was ill with greencough. Firestar could see the clump of catnip now from where he was sitting, and smell its tempting scent.
A flicker of movement from the nest caught his gaze, and he saw one of his old Twolegs pass by the window and disappear again. Firestar suddenly wondered how his Twolegs had felt when he left them to live in the forest. He hoped they hadn’t worried about him. They had cared for him well, in the way that Twolegs tried to, and Firestar knew he would always be grateful. He would have liked to tell them how happy he was in the forest, and how he was fulfilling the destiny StarClan had laid out for him, but he knew there was no way he could make Twolegs understand.
He was bunching his muscles, ready to leap down into the forest, when something black and white moved in the next garden. Glancing down, he saw Smudge, his old friend from his kittypet days. He looked as plump as ever, with a contented expression on his broad face. He was talking to a pretty brown tabby she-cat, a stranger to Firestar; their mews reached him but they were too far away for him to make out the words.
He almost jumped down to say hello, until he remembered that they would probably be frightened by the sight of a ruffian like himself. Not long after coming to the forest, Firestar had met Smudge in the woods, and nearly scared the life out of him before his friend recognized him. The life he led now was worlds away from theirs.
The sound of a door opening roused Firestar from his thoughts, and he edged along the fence into the shelter of a holly bush as one of his old Twolegs came out of the house and called. At once the pretty brown tabby meowed good-bye to Smudge and scrambled under the fence that divided the gardens. She ran up to the Twoleg, who scooped her up and stroked her before carrying her indoors, purring loudly.
She’s their new kittypet! Firestar thought. The closing of the door stirred a pang of envy in him, just for a heartbeat. The little tabby would have no need to catch her prey before she could eat; she would have a warm place to sleep, and no risk of dying in battle or from one of the many dangers that beset the forest cats. She would have the friendship of Smudge and other kittypets, and the care of her Twolegs—everything that Firestar had turned his back on to live as a Clan cat in the forest.
But at the same time she would never know the satisfaction of learning warrior skills, or of racing into battle beside her friends. She would never understand what it meant to live by the warrior code, and to follow the will of StarClan.
If I could relive my life, Firestar thought, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Suddenly claws scrabbled on the fence below him and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of quick, brown movement. Turning his head, he found himself face-to-face with Bramblepaw.
It was a moment before Firestar recovered himself enough to speak. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you from camp, Firestar. I…I was curious about where you were going, and I wanted to practice my tracking skills.”
“Well, they seem good enough, if you got this far.” Firestar wasn’t sure whether he was angry with his apprentice or not. Bramblepaw shouldn’t have followed him without permission, but it was impressive to have tracked him all the way from the camp. He felt a twinge of guilt, too, that Bramblepaw should have caught him looking over a Twoleg fence at a pair of kittypets. Once before, when Firestar was an apprentice, Tigerstar had spied on him and caught him talking to Smudge. The huge tabby had reported straight back to Bluestar, deliberately calling into question Firestar’s loyalty to Clan life.
Meeting Bramblepaw’s eyes, Firestar saw the young cat’s nervousness fading, to be replaced by a steady gaze, as if he were weighing his mentor up. It was a long, intelligent look, and Firestar realized that he could see respect in the amber depths. He was aware yet again of his certainty that Bramblepaw could be an outstanding warrior, if only he could escape his father’s dark heritage. But would Bramblepaw ever be truly loyal to his birth Clan, with his father still in the forest?
“Can I trust you?” Firestar blurted out suddenly.
The young cat didn’t rush to defend himself. Instead Bramblepaw held him with that serious gaze for a moment more. “Can I trust you?” he responded, twitching his ears in the direction of the Twoleg garden.
Bristling, Firestar initially had no intention of justifying himself to his apprentice; it was not Bramblepaw’s place to question the actions of his mentor—who also happened to be Clan leader. But in spite of the guilt Bramblepaw’s question had provoked, Firestar couldn’t help admiring the spirit that had dared to ask.
He took a deep breath. “You can trust me,” he promised solemnly. “I chose to leave my life as a kittypet. Whatever happens, I’ll always put the Clan first.” It was time, he decided, to be more open with Bramblepaw. “But I do come here now and again,” he continued. “I see my sister sometimes, and I wonder how things would have been if I’d stayed. Yet I always leave knowing that my heart lies with ThunderClan.”
Bramblepaw gave a little nod, as if the answer satisfied him. “I know what it’s like to have loyalties questioned,” he meowed.
Another pang of guilt stabbed Firestar, even though he knew he was not the only cat to have suspicions about Bramblepaw. “How do you get on with the other apprentices?” he asked.
“They’re okay. But I know some of the warriors don’t like me and Tawnypaw, because Tigerstar’s our father.”
The words were spoken with such understanding that Firestar was even more ashamed of
himself. We’re more alike than I ever realized, Firestar thought. Constantly having to prove our loyalties by fighting twice as hard, defending ourselves twice as much to our enemies—and to our Clan mates.
“Can you cope with that?” he meowed cautiously.
Bramblepaw blinked. “I know where my loyalties lie. I’ll prove that someday.”
There was no boasting in the way he spoke, just calm determination. Firestar realized that he believed him. His apprentice had rewarded him for his honesty about visiting Twolegplace by being honest with him in return. Now, Firestar knew he owed it to Bramblepaw to trust his word.
“What about Tawnypaw?” he asked.
“Well…” Her brother hesitated, a troubled look in his eyes. “She can be a bit difficult at times—but it’s just her way. She’s a loyal cat at heart.”
“I’m sure she is,” Firestar mewed, though he noticed that Bramblepaw wasn’t entirely at ease discussing his sister with the Clan leader. He would need to keep a closer eye on Tawnypaw in future, and make sure she had all the support she needed to become a reliable ThunderClan warrior. A word with her mentor, Brackenfur, would be a good idea.
Struck by a sudden warmth toward his apprentice, Firestar added, “I’ve got to get on if I’m to finish patrolling the border before dark. Do you want to come with me?”
Bramblepaw’s amber eyes lit up. “Can I?”
“Sure.” Firestar leaped down from the fence and waited for the young cat to scramble down behind him. “We’ll do some training on the way.”
“Great!” Bramblepaw meowed enthusiastically.
He padded close to his mentor’s shoulder as Firestar led the way back into the trees.
Firestar halted on the edge of the Thunderpath and drew in the scent that flowed across from ShadowClan territory. Tigerstar is out there, he thought. What is he planning? What will he do next?
As he stood wrapped in silent apprehension, he noticed scraps of white drifting down from the sky. Snow! Firestar thought, glancing up at a sky where the clouds were darker than ever. Hearing a surprised squeak from Bramblepaw, he turned around. A snowflake had landed on Bramblepaw’s nose and was slowly melting. The apprentice flicked out a pink tongue and licked it off, his yellow eyes round with wonder.