by Erin Hunter
“And me,” meowed Cloudpaw.
Fireheart let out a purr of appreciation at his apprentice’s words. He was pleased that his sister’s son was working harder for the Clan and showing more commitment to Clan life, after the disastrous episode when he was taken away by Twolegs and had to be rescued. “Dustpelt, Mousefur, Cloudpaw, and Ashpaw, then,” he meowed. “The rest of you get some sleep. We’ll need hunting patrols later on.”
“What about you?” asked Darkstripe.
Fireheart took a deep breath. “I’m going to speak to Bluestar.”
The curtain of lichen had been burned away from the entrance to Bluestar’s den at the base of the Highrock. As Fireheart approached, Cinderpelt, Thunderclan’s medicine cat, emerged into the clearing and paused to stretch. Her dark gray fur was ruffled, and she looked worn out from the strain of caring for the Clan in the aftermath of the fire, but the strength of her spirit still shone in her blue eyes. Fireheart was reminded of the time when she had been his eager apprentice, until she had been lured too close to the Thunderpath, in a trap which Tigerclaw had set for Bluestar. The young cat’s leg had been permanently injured so she could never be a warrior, but she had always kept her commitment to serving her Clan.
Fireheart padded up to her. “How is Bluestar today?” he asked quietly.
Cinderpelt cast a worried glance back into the den. “She didn’t sleep last night,” she replied. “I’ve given her juniper berries to calm her, but I don’t know if they’ll do any good.”
“I need to tell her what happened at the Gathering,” Fireheart meowed. “And she’s not going to like it.”
Cinderpelt’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
As quickly as he could, Fireheart told her.
Cinderpelt listened in shocked silence, her blue eyes wide with amazement. “What will you do?” she asked when Fireheart had finished.
“There isn’t much I can do. Besides, it could be a good thing for ThunderClan. Tigerstar’s got what he wants now, and with any luck he’s going to be far too busy working his new Clan into shape to bother about us.” Seeing that Cinderpelt looked disbelieving, he added hastily, “Who they choose for leader is ShadowClan’s business. We’ll have to keep a watch on our borders, but I don’t believe Tigerstar will be much of a threat, for a while, at least. I’m more worried about how Bluestar is going to take it.”
“This is going to make her worse,” Cinderpaw meowed anxiously. “I only hope I can find the right herbs to help her. I wish Yellowfang were here.”
“I know.” Fireheart pressed himself comfortingly against Cinderpelt’s side. “But you’ll be fine. You’re a great medicine cat.”
“It’s not just that.” Cinderpelt’s voice dropped to a painful whisper. “I miss her, Fireheart! I keep waiting for her to tell me I haven’t the sense of a newborn kit—at least when she praised me, I knew she really meant it. I want her, Fireheart—her scent and the feel of her fur and the sound of her voice.”
“I know,” Fireheart murmured. He felt an emptiness inside as memories of the old cat flooded over him. He had been very close to Yellowfang, ever since he had discovered her living as a rogue in ThunderClan territory. “But she hunts with StarClan now.”
And perhaps she had found peace at last, he reflected, as he remembered the torment in Yellowfang’s voice as she died thinking of her son, Brokentail—the murderous cat she had never stopped loving, even though he had grown up without knowing she was his mother. In the end she had killed him to save her adopted Clan from his bloodthirsty scheming. Yellowfang’s pain was at an end, but Fireheart could not imagine that he would ever stop missing her.
“You go to Highstones soon, don’t you?” he reminded Cinderpelt. “To meet the other medicine cats? I think you’ll feel very close to Yellowfang then.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Cinderpelt pushed away from him. “I can just hear Yellowfang now,” she meowed. “‘Why are you standing around moaning when there’s work to be done?’ You go and talk to Bluestar. I’ll look in on her again a bit later on.”
“If you’re sure you’re okay,” mewed Fireheart.
“I’m fine.” Cinderpelt gave his ear a quick lick. “Be strong for her, Fireheart,” she urged. “She needs you more than ever.”
Fireheart watched the medicine cat as she limped rapidly away, and then turned toward Bluestar’s den. Taking a deep breath, he called a greeting and entered through the gap where the lichen used to grow.
Bluestar was crouched on a pile of bedding at the back of the cave, her forepaws tucked under her chest. Her head was raised, but she was not looking at Fireheart. Instead her blue eyes were blank, fixed on something far away that only she could see. Her pelt was rough and unwashed, and she was so thin that Fireheart could see every rib. His heart twisted with pity for her and fear for the rest of his Clan. Their leader had diminished into an old, sick cat, broken by trouble and unable to defend herself, let alone her Clan.
“Bluestar?” Fireheart meowed hesitantly.
At first he thought that Bluestar had not heard him. Then, as he padded farther into the den, she turned her head. Her cloudy blue gaze focused on him, and for a heartbeat she looked puzzled, as if she couldn’t remember who he was.
Then her ears pricked and intelligence flooded back into her eyes. “Fireheart? What do you want?”
Fireheart dipped his head respectfully. “I’m just back from the Gathering, Bluestar. I’m afraid there’s bad news.” He paused.
“Well?” Bluestar sounded irritable. “What is it?”
“ShadowClan has a new leader,” Fireheart meowed. He plunged straight on. “It’s Tigerclaw—Tiger star now.”
In an instant, Bluestar leaped to her paws. Her eyes blazed cold fire, and Fireheart flinched at the reminder of the formidable cat she had once been. “That’s impossible!” she hissed.
“No, it’s true. I saw him myself. He spoke from the Great Rock, with the other leaders.”
For a few moments Bluestar did not reply. She paced from one side of the den to the other and back again, her tail lashing. Fireheart backed toward the entrance, not at all sure that Bluestar wouldn’t attack him for bringing this terrible news.
“How dare ShadowClan do this?” she spat at last. “How dare they shelter the cat who tried to murder me—and make him their leader!”
“Bluestar, they don’t know—” Fireheart began, but the ThunderClan leader was not listening to him.
“And the other leaders?” she demanded. “What did they think? How could they let this happen?”
“No cat knows what Tigerstar did to ThunderClan.” Fireheart struggled to make Bluestar think logically. “Crookedstar didn’t say much, although Tallstar was unhappy at first that Tigerstar had taken Brokentail’s old followers back into the Clan.”
“Tallstar!” Bluestar spat. “We should know by now that we can’t trust him. After all, it didn’t take him long to forget what we did for his Clan, after you and Graystripe risked your lives to find them and bring them home.”
Fireheart started to protest, but Bluestar ignored him. “StarClan have abandoned me!” she went on, still pacing furiously. “They told me that fire would save the Clan, but fire has almost destroyed us. How can I ever trust StarClan again—especially now? They have granted a leader’s nine lives to that traitor. They care nothing for me or for ThunderClan!”
Fireheart flinched. “Bluestar, listen—”
“No, Fireheart, you listen.” Bluestar padded over to him. Her fur was fluffed up and her teeth bared in anger. “ThunderClan is doomed. Tigerstar will lead ShadowClan to destroy us all—and we can expect no help from StarClan.”
“Tigerstar didn’t seem hostile.” Fireheart was desperately trying to get through to his leader. “When he spoke, all he seemed to care about was leading his new Clan.”
Bluestar let out a crack of harsh laughter. “If you believe that, Fireheart, you’re a fool. Tigerstar will be here before leaf-fall; you mark my words. But he’ll find u
s waiting for him. If we’re all going to die, we’ll take a few of ShadowClan with us.”
She began pacing rapidly back and forth again, while Fireheart watched, appalled.
“Double the patrols,” she ordered. “Set a watch on the camp. Send cats to guard the border with ShadowClan.”
“We haven’t enough warriors for all that,” Fireheart objected. “Every cat is exhausted with the extra work rebuilding the camp. It’s all we can do to keep up the regular patrols.”
“Are you questioning my orders?” Bluestar whipped around to face him again, drawing her lips back in a snarl. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Or are you going to betray me too?”
“No, Bluestar, no! You can trust me.” Fireheart tensed his muscles, half expecting that he would need to dodge Bluestar’s slashing claws.
Suddenly the old leader relaxed. “I know, Fireheart. You’ve always been loyal, not like those others.” As if the strength of her fury had exhausted her, she limped back to her bedding.
“Set the patrols,” she ordered, sinking down in the soft moss and heather. “Do it now, before ShadowClan makes crowfood of us all.”
“Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart saw no point in arguing any more. He bowed his head and backed out of the den. Bluestar’s gaze was once more fixed on something unseen. Fireheart wondered if she was looking into the future, and watching the destruction of her Clan.
CHAPTER 3
Fireheart opened his eyes and blinked in the uncomfortably bright sunlight. He still couldn’t get used to the way the sun shone straight into the warriors’ den now that the thick covering of leaves had gone. Yawning, he uncurled himself and shook the clinging scraps of moss from his coat.
Close beside him, Sandstorm was still asleep; Dustpelt and Darkstripe were curled up a little farther away. Fireheart padded out into the clearing. It was three days since the Gathering and the discovery of Tigerstar’s new leadership, and there was still no sign of the attack Bluestar had feared. ThunderClan had used the time to rebuild the camp, and although there was still a long way to go, Fireheart couldn’t help feeling pleased when he saw shady walls of fern beginning to grow back around the edge of the camp, and the bramble thicket firmly interlaced with twigs to shelter the nursing queens and their kits.
As Fireheart made his way toward the pile of fresh-kill, he saw the dawn patrol returning with Whitestorm in the lead. Fireheart paused and waited for the white warrior to join him.
“Any sign of ShadowClan?”
Whitestorm shook his head. “Nothing,” he meowed. “Just the usual scent markings along their border. There was one thing, though….”
Fireheart’s ears pricked. “What?”
“Not far from Snakerocks we found a whole stretch of undergrowth trampled down, and pigeon feathers scattered all over it.”
“Pigeon feathers?” Fireheart echoed. “I haven’t seen a pigeon for days. Is some other Clan hunting in our territory?”
“I don’t think so. The whole place reeked of dog.” Whitestorm wrinkled his nose with distaste. “There was dog dirt there too.”
“Oh, a dog.” Fireheart flicked his tail dismissively. “Well, we all know that Twolegs are always bringing their dogs into the forest. They run around, chase a few squirrels, and then the Twolegs take them home again.” He let out a purr of amusement. “The only unusual thing is that it looks as if this one caught something.”
To his surprise, Whitestorm continued to look serious. “All the same, I think you should tell the patrols to keep their eyes open,” he meowed.
“Okay.” Fireheart respected the older warrior too much to ignore his advice, but privately he thought the dog would be a long way away by now, shut up somewhere in Twolegplace. Dogs were noisy nuisances, but he had more important things to worry about.
He was reminded of his anxiety about food supplies as he followed Whitestorm to the pile of fresh-kill. Brightpaw, Whitestorm’s apprentice, and Cloudpaw, who had made up the rest of the patrol, were already there.
“Look at this!” Cloudpaw complained as Fireheart came up. He turned a vole over with one paw. “There’s hardly a decent mouthful on it!”
“Prey is scarce,” Fireheart reminded him, noticing there were only a few pieces of fresh-kill on the pile. “Any creatures that survived the fire can’t find much to eat.”
“We need to hunt again,” Cloudpaw meowed. He bit into the vole and swallowed. “I’ll go as soon as I’ve finished this.”
“You can come with me,” mewed Fireheart, selecting a magpie for himself. “I’m going to lead out a patrol later on.”
“No, I can’t wait,” Cloudpaw mumbled through another mouthful. “I’m so hungry I could eat you. Brightpaw, do you want to come with me?”
Brightpaw, who was neatly tucking into a mouse, glanced at her mentor for permission. When Whitestorm nodded she sprang up. “Ready when you are,” she meowed.
“All right then,” mewed Fireheart. He was slightly annoyed that Cloudpaw hadn’t asked for his mentor’s permission like Brightpaw, but the Clan did need fresh-kill, and both the apprentices were good hunters. “Don’t go too far from camp,” he warned.
“But all the best prey is farther away, where the fire didn’t reach,” Cloudpaw objected. “We’ll be fine, Fireheart,” he promised. “We’ll hunt for the elders first.”
Swallowing the last of his vole in one enormous gulp, he dashed off toward the camp entrance with Brightpaw racing after him.
“Stay away from Twolegplace!” Fireheart called after them, remembering how Cloudpaw had once been all too fond of visiting the Twolegs. The apprentice had paid a harsh price when they had taken him away to their nest on the far side of WindClan’s territory. As greenleaf drew to an end, with the prospect of a hungry leaf-bare to come, Fireheart hoped that his apprentice wouldn’t be tempted back into his old ways.
“Apprentices!” Whitestorm purred as he watched the two young cats bounding away. “Dawn patrol, and now they’re off hunting. I wish I had their energy.” He dragged a blackbird a little way from the pile of fresh-kill and crouched down to eat.
As Fireheart finished his magpie, he saw Sandstorm padding across from the warriors’ den. The sun shone on her pale ginger coat, and Fireheart admired the ripple of her fur as she moved. “Do you want to come and hunt with me?” he asked as she approached.
“Looks as if we need it,” Sandstorm replied, surveying the pitifully few pieces of fresh-kill that remained. “Let’s go now—I can wait to eat until we catch something.”
Fireheart looked around for another cat to join them and noticed Longtail heading for the apprentices’ den, calling for Swiftpaw. “Hey, Longtail!” he meowed as the two cats padded across the clearing. “Come and join our hunting patrol.”
Longtail hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether that was an order from his deputy or not. “We were going to the training hollow,” he explained. “Swiftpaw needs to practice his defense moves.”
“You can do that later.” This time Fireheart made it clear that he was giving an order. “The Clan needs fresh-kill first.”
Longtail flicked his tail irritably but said nothing. Swiftpaw was looking more enthusiastic, his eyes bright. The young black-and-white tom had grown almost as big as his mentor, Fireheart noticed; he was the oldest of the apprentices, and he could expect to be made a warrior soon.
I must talk to Bluestar about his naming ceremony, Fireheart thought. Cloudpaw too, and Brightpaw and Thornpaw. The Clan needs more warriors.
Leaving Whitestorm to take a well-earned rest, Fireheart led his hunting party out of the camp and up the ravine. At the top, he turned toward Sunningrocks. Doing his best to carry out Bluestar’s order about doubling the patrols, he had instructed all the hunting parties to do border duty as well, staying alert for other Clans’ scents or any other signs of an enemy presence. In particular, he had warned them to keep a careful watch on the ShadowClan border, but privately he resolved not to neglect RiverClan.
He had an une
asy feeling about their relationship with ThunderClan. With Crookedstar growing old, his deputy, Leopardfur, would have more authority, and Fireheart still expected her to ask for something in return for RiverClan’s help on the night of the fire.
As Fireheart led the way toward the river, he noticed plants pushing their way up through the blackened soil. New ferns were beginning to uncoil and green tendrils spread out to cover the earth. The forest was beginning to recover, but as leaf-fall approached, growth would slow down. Fireheart was still worried that his Clan was heading for a cold and comfortless leaf-bare.
When they reached Sunningrocks, Longtail led Swiftpaw into one of the gullies between the rocks. “You can practice listening for mice and voles,” he told his apprentice. “See if you can catch something before the rest of us.”
Fireheart watched them go approvingly. The pale tabby warrior was a conscientious mentor, and a strong bond had grown between him and Swiftpaw.
Fireheart skirted the rocks on the side that faced the river, where more of the grass and foliage had survived. It was not long before he spotted a mouse scuffling among some brittle grass stems. As it sat up, nibbling a seed clasped in its forepaws, Fireheart sprang and finished it off swiftly.
“Good work,” Sandstorm murmured, padding up to him.
“Do you want it?” Fireheart asked, pushing the fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
“No, thanks,” meowed Sandstorm tartly. “I can catch my own.”
She slipped off into the shadow of a hazel tree. Fireheart looked after her, wondering if he’d offended her, and then started to scrape earth over his prey so it could be collected later.
“You want to watch out with that one,” a voice meowed behind him. “She’ll claw your ears off if you’re not careful.”
Fireheart spun around. His old friend Graystripe was standing on the border with RiverClan, farther down the slope toward the river. Water gleamed on his thick gray pelt.
“Graystripe!” Fireheart exclaimed. “You startled me!”