by Erin Hunter
But it seemed that luck—or the favor of StarClan—was on Fireheart’s side. With their jaws full of prey, the WindClan cats were unable to pick up his ThunderClan scent, and they passed within a couple of tail-lengths of him. Then Gorsepaw, who was struggling with a rabbit almost as big as he was, stopped to adjust his grip on it and fell behind the others.
Fireheart spotted his chance. “Gorsepaw!”
The young cat raised his head, ears pricked.
“Over here, in the bracken.”
Gorsepaw turned, and his eyes stretched wide when he saw Fireheart poking his head out from the rusty fronds. His mouth opened, but Fireheart urgently signaled to him to keep silent.
“Listen, Gorsepaw,” he mewed. “I want you to tell Onewhisker I’m here, but don’t let Mudclaw know, okay?” The apprentice hesitated, looking troubled, and Fireheart added urgently, “I have to talk to him. It’s important for both our Clans. You’ve got to trust me.”
The desperation in his tone reached Gorsepaw, who paused a moment longer and then gave a quick nod. “All right, Fireheart. Wait here.”
He picked up his rabbit again and hurried to catch up to the two warriors. Fireheart crept deeper into the bracken and crouched there, waiting. Before long he heard another cat approach his hiding place and murmur, “Fireheart? Is that you?”
To his relief, Fireheart recognized Onewhisker’s voice. He peered warily out of the shelter of the bracken, and straightened up when he saw that his friend was alone.
“Thank StarClan!” he exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“This had better be good, Fireheart,” Onewhisker meowed. He gave Fireheart a hard stare, with no trace of his usual friendliness. “It took me a while to get rid of Mudclaw. If he knew you were on our territory, you’d be crowfood, and you know it.” He padded up to Fireheart. “I’m sticking my neck out for you,” he growled. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“It is, I promise. I’ve come to tell you something. I’ve got to speak to Tallstar. It’s important,” he added, as Onewhisker went on staring at him.
For a few heartbeats he was afraid that his friend was going to refuse, or even attack him and drive him off WindClan territory.
Then Onewhisker spoke, and to Fireheart’s relief he sounded less hostile, as if he were beginning to realize the urgency of Fireheart’s request. “What’s it all about? Tallstar will have my fur off if I take a ThunderClan cat into camp without a very good reason.”
“I can’t tell you, Onewhisker. I can’t tell any cat except Tallstar. But believe me, it’s for the good of both our Clans.”
Once again Onewhisker hesitated. “I wouldn’t do this for any cat but you, Fireheart,” he meowed at last. Spinning around, he beckoned with his tail and bounded off across the moor.
Fireheart sprang after him. Onewhisker halted at the top of the slope, looking down into the WindClan camp. The rays of the dying sun cast long shadows over the gorse bushes that lined the sides of the hollow. As Fireheart and Onewhisker stood there, a patrol slipped past them. Fireheart was conscious of their stares, where curiosity mingled with antagonism.
“Come on,” meowed Onewhisker. He led the way through the tough stems of gorse until they came to a sandy clearing in the middle of the bushes.
As he emerged through a narrow gap in the thorns, Fireheart saw Tallstar crouched at one side of the clearing near a pile of fresh-kill. More WindClan warriors clustered around him. It was the Clan deputy, Deadfoot, who looked up first and then nudged his leader, mewing something rapidly into his ear.
Tallstar rose and padded across the clearing to where Fireheart and Onewhisker waited. Deadfoot hovered at his shoulder, and other cats followed close behind. Fireheart recognized Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat, and Mudclaw, his lips drawn back in a snarl.
“Well, Onewhisker.” Tallstar’s voice was level, giving nothing away. “Why have you brought Fireheart here?”
Onewhisker dipped his head. “He says he has to talk to you.”
“And that means he can just stroll into our camp?” Mudclaw spat. “He’s from an enemy Clan!”
Tallstar waved his tail at Mudclaw, a sign for silence, while his eyes looked deep into Fireheart’s. “I’m here,” he mewed simply. “Talk.”
Fireheart glanced around him. The crowd was growing larger, as more WindClan cats heard about the intruder in their midst and came out to see what was going on. “What I have to say is not for all ears, Tallstar,” he stammered.
For a heartbeat he thought he heard a faint growl in Tallstar’s throat, but then the WindClan leader nodded slowly. “Very well. We will go to my den. Deadfoot, you come with us—and you, Onewhisker.” Turning, he stalked toward the rock at the far end of the clearing, his long tail held high, while the two warriors herded Fireheart after him.
The WindClan leader’s den was sheltered under a deep overhang in the rock, on the side away from the main camp. Tallstar entered and made himself comfortable in a nest of heather, facing Fireheart. “Well?” he meowed.
Shadows were gathering in the den, and Fireheart could feel rather than see the shapes of the cats who guarded him. Tension crackled between them, as if they were waiting for the tiniest excuse to attack him. During his journey across the moor he had thought hard about what he would say, but he still didn’t know whether he would manage to convince Tallstar that there was a way to avoid Bluestar’s attack.
“You know that Bluestar is unhappy about the loss of prey,” Fireheart began.
Instantly the fur on the WindClan leader’s shoulders began to bristle. “WindClan did not steal prey from ThunderClan!” he snapped.
“We’ve found scattered remains too,” Deadfoot asserted, limping forward and thrusting his muzzle close to Fireheart’s. “Are you sure ThunderClan haven’t been stealing prey from us?”
Fireheart forced himself not to flinch. “No!” he protested. “I don’t believe any cats have stolen prey.”
“What happened to it, then?” Onewhisker asked.
“I think there’s a dog living in the forest. We’ve smelled it, and found its dung.”
“A dog!” Onewhisker echoed. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What, loose from its Twolegs?”
“I’m certain of it,” Fireheart meowed.
“Could be…” mewed Tallstar. To Fireheart’s relief, the fur on his shoulders was lying flat again. “We’ve certainly scented dog in our territory recently, but then, they’re always up here with their Twolegs.” Sounding more confident, he went on: “Yes, it could be a dog killing the rabbits. I’ll see that our patrols keep a lookout.”
“But you didn’t come all this way to tell us that,” Deadfoot meowed. “So what’s on your mind, Fireheart?”
Fireheart took a deep breath. He didn’t want to betray Bluestar by telling Tallstar of her plans to attack—but he wanted to suggest to the WindClan leader that future battle could be avoided if he would just talk to Bluestar about the prey theft.
“I can’t convince Bluestar about the dog,” he explained. “She feels threatened by WindClan, and sooner or later this will all end in battle unless we can do something.” He could not tell the WindClan warriors how much sooner the battle would take place if he failed now. “Cats will be injured—killed, even—for nothing.”
“Then what do you expect me to do?” Tallstar asked testily. “She’s your leader, Fireheart. This is your problem.”
Fireheart dared to take a couple of steps toward the WindClan leader. “I’ve come to ask you to hold a meeting with Bluestar. If you could discuss things in private, you might be able to make peace.”
“Bluestar wants a meeting?” It was Deadfoot who spoke, sounding disbelieving. “Last time we saw her, she looked as if she would like to claw our throats out.”
“This isn’t Bluestar’s idea—it’s mine,” Fireheart confessed.
All three WindClan cats stared at him. Finally it was Onewhisker who broke the silence. “Does that mean you’re going behind your leader
’s back?”
“It’s for the good of both our Clans,” he insisted.
He half expected to be chased out of the camp, but to his relief Tallstar was looking thoughtful. “I’d certainly rather talk than fight,” the leader meowed, “but how are we going to arrange it? How willing to listen will she be if she knows that you have talked to us first, without her knowledge?” Not waiting for Fireheart to reply, he went on: “Perhaps it would be best if I sent a messenger to ask her to meet me at Fourtrees—but can you guarantee the safety of a WindClan cat on ThunderClan territory?”
Fireheart was silent, which was answer in itself.
Tallstar shrugged. “I’m sorry, Fireheart. I won’t risk one of my warriors. If Bluestar decides that she’s willing to talk, she knows where to find us. Onewhisker, you’d better take Fireheart back to Fourtrees. “
“Wait!” Fireheart protested. An idea had just slid into his mind—or perhaps StarClan had sent it to him. “I know what you can do.”
Tallstar’s eyes gleamed in the gathering darkness. “What?”
“Do you know the cat Ravenpaw? He’s a loner who lives on a farm on the edge of your territory, near Highstones. He sheltered us on the journey to bring you home—remember?”
“I know him,” meowed Onewhisker. “He’s a decent cat, even if he’s not a warrior. What about him?”
Fireheart turned to him eagerly. “He could take the message for you. And Bluestar has given him permission to enter ThunderClan territory—as he used to be a ThunderClan cat.”
Tallstar shifted in his nest of heather. “That sounds like it might work. What do you think, Deadfoot?”
A reluctant rumble of agreement came from the deputy.
“Then go!” Fireheart urged Onewhisker, realizing once again how quickly time was running out. “Go now. Tell him to ask Bluestar to meet Tallstar at dawn, at Fourtrees.” There was barely enough time for Onewhisker to find Ravenpaw, and for Ravenpaw to carry the message all the way to the ThunderClan camp before Bluestar would be leaving to launch her attack. Fireheart sent a silent prayer to StarClan that Onewhisker would be able to find Ravenpaw easily on the Twoleg farm.
Onewhisker glanced at his leader, who nodded. At once the brown tabby warrior turned around and disappeared into the darkness outside the den.
Tallstar gazed at Fireheart with narrowed eyes. “Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?” he mewed. To Fireheart’s relief, he did not press for more answers. “It’s time for you to go,” he continued. “Deadfoot, escort him off our territory. And Fireheart—I’ll be at Fourtrees at dawn, but that’s all I can do. If Bluestar wants peace, she must be there.”
“Fourtrees at dawn,” Fireheart repeated, and followed the deputy out.
Fireheart made good time back to Fourtrees and onto his own territory. He had not eaten since before the Gathering on the previous night; his belly ached with hunger, and he was beginning to feel shaky on his paws, so he forced himself to stop and hunt.
He paused to listen when he reached the stream, and his ears caught the sound of a vole scuffling among the reeds at the water’s edge. Lifting his head to taste the air, Fireheart pinpointed the creature more by scent than sight. He pounced, and his claws sank into his prey. Gulping it down, he felt strength flow back into him, and he headed for his own camp with renewed speed. The moon had risen above the trees by the time he slipped down the ravine, reminding Fireheart that he had until moonset to choose warriors for Bluestar’s planned attack. His optimism was returning. Tallstar had agreed to talk; surely Bluestar would realize that war with WindClan was unnecessary.
He had almost reached the entrance to the clearing when he heard a cat call his name. He turned to see Whitestorm following him down the ravine at the head of the evening patrol. Brightpaw, Cloudpaw, and Frostfur were with him.
“Everything quiet?” Fireheart asked as Whitestorm came up to him.
“Quiet as a sleeping kit,” the white warrior replied. “No sign of the dog. Maybe its Twolegs found it after all.”
“Maybe,” Fireheart meowed. Suddenly he decided to tell Whitestorm where he had been. He wanted at least one other warrior to share the hope that they might not have to go into battle against WindClan. “Actually, Whitestorm, I wanted a word with you about that. Can you give me a moment?”
“Of course—if you don’t mind my eating while I listen.”
Whitestorm sent the two apprentices to go take prey for themselves; they bounded over to the pile of fresh-kill and fell into a friendly scuffle over a magpie. Frostfur padded off to the warriors’ den with a vole, while Whitestorm chose a squirrel for himself and carried it over to a quiet corner by the newly sprouting nettle patch.
Fireheart followed him. “Whitestorm, Bluestar sent for me this morning….” Quietly he told the older warrior the whole story, from Bluestar’s obsessive belief that WindClan had been stealing prey and her order to attack, to Fireheart’s decision to ask WindClan for a meeting.
“What?” Whitestorm stared at Fireheart in disbelief. “You went behind Bluestar’s back?” His voice failed, and he shook his head in confusion.
Fireheart immediately felt defensive. “What else could I do?”
“You could have consulted me.” The fur on Whitestorm’s shoulders bristled angrily. “Or some of the other senior warriors. We would have helped you find a solution.”
“I’m sorry.” Fireheart’s heart was pounding. “I didn’t want anyone else to get in trouble. I did what I thought was best.” It was because of the warrior code that he had acted alone, knowing that he could not ask any other cat to challenge Bluestar’s orders like this.
Whitestorm’s gaze was intensely thoughtful. “I think we need to tell the other warriors about this,” he meowed at last. “They’ll need to be ready for Bluestar’s attack in case Ravenpaw doesn’t get here—and even if Bluestar agrees to meet Tallstar, she might want a patrol behind her. I’d bet a moon’s worth of dawn patrols that Tallstar guesses something’s up. We can’t be sure he won’t ambush us.”
Fireheart nodded respectfully. “You’re right, Whitestorm. I trust them, but we should be prepared.”
“I’ll find some apprentices to guard the camp,” Whitestorm meowed. “You gather the warriors.”
Fireheart ran across the clearing to the warrior’s den. Most of them were already there, curled up in their nests, asleep. Fireheart prodded Sandstorm with a paw to rouse her. She blinked up at him. “What is it?”
“Wake the others, please, Sandstorm,” Fireheart meowed. “Whitestorm and I have something important to tell everyone.”
Sandstorm scrambled to her paws. “What do you mean, something important? It’s the middle of the night!”
Fireheart went out again without answering, to look for the remaining warriors. He found Brindleface visiting the queens in the nursery and Mousefur coming into camp with her jaws full of fresh-kill after a late-night patrol. He wondered whether he ought to call Cinderpelt, but decided it would be better to explain the situation to her individually.
By the time he returned to the warriors’ den the other cats were fully awake. A moment later Whitestorm padded under the shelter of the branches and sat down at Fireheart’s side.
“What’s all this about?” Darkstripe asked bad-temperedly, flicking moss off one ear. “It had better be good.”
Fireheart felt his stomach churn with nervousness as he wondered how his Clan mates would react when they heard what he he done. Whitestorm nodded at him, nudging him to speak.
Taking a deep breath, Fireheart began. He explained Bluestar’s plan to attack, and how he had tried to work out a peaceful solution instead. His Clan mates listened in stunned silence. Fireheart was acutely conscious of their eyes fixed on him, glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the den’s roof. In particular he was aware of Sandstorm’s pale green gaze, where she sat crouched near the outer branches, but he could not bring himself to look directly at her. He just hoped that the
warriors would understand he had done this for the best of reasons, to avoid battle and save lives.
“So Tallstar agreed to meet Bluestar at Fourtrees,” he finished. “Ravenpaw should be here anytime now to tell her about the meeting.”
He braced himself for an outburst from the other warriors, but no cat seemed to know what to say; they merely looked at each other in bewilderment.
Eventually Mousefur asked, “Whitestorm, do you agree with what Fireheart has done?”
Fireheart waited, his eyes fixed on his paws. He desperately needed Whitestorm’s support because of the respect he commanded from the other warriors, but he knew that Whitestorm did not completely approve of his actions, however well-intentioned.
“I wouldn’t have done it.” Whitestorm spoke with his usual quiet authority. “But I think he’s right about not attacking WindClan. I don’t believe they have taken any of our prey. There is a dog loose—I’ve scented it myself.”
“So have I, around Snakerocks,” confirmed Mousefur.
“At Fourtrees too,” meowed Brackenfur. “We can’t blame WindClan for that.”
“But you’re asking us to keep secrets from Bluestar!” Sandstorm rose to her paws, and at last Fireheart had to meet her challenging green stare.
A jolt of dismay ran through Fireheart. He had not expected Sandstorm to be the first cat to object to what he had done. “I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“Just what I would expect from a kittypet,” growled Darkstripe. “Do you have any idea of what the warrior code means?”
“I know very well what it means,” Fireheart defended himself. “It is because of my loyalty to the Clan that I don’t want to fight an unnecessary battle. And I respect StarClan as much as any cat. I don’t believe it’s their will that we attack tonight.”