by Erin Hunter
“Did you see it?” Cinderpelt whispered.
“See what, Cinderpelt?”
“In the flames . . . a leaping tiger. I saw it clearly, its huge head, the leaping paws, stripes as black as night along its body. . . .” The medicine cat’s voice was hoarse. “An omen from StarClan, fire and tiger together. It must mean something, but what?”
Leafpaw shook her head. “I don’t know,” she confessed, feeling scared and helpless.
Cinderpelt got shakily to her paws, shrugging off Leafpaw’s attempt to help her up. “We must go straight back to camp,” she mewed. “Firestar should hear about this at once.”
The ThunderClan leader was alone in his den under the Highrock when Cinderpelt and Leafpaw returned. Cinderpelt paused outside the curtain of lichen that covered the entrance and called out, “Firestar? I need to talk to you.”
“Come in,” Firestar’s voice replied.
Leafpaw followed her mentor into the den to see her father curled up on the bed of moss by the far wall. His head was raised as if Cinderpelt had roused him from sleep, and when the medicine cat and her apprentice entered he rose and stretched, arching his back so that the muscles rippled under his flame-coloured pelt.
“What can I do for you?”
Cinderpelt padded across the den towards him, while Leafpaw sat quietly beside the entrance, wrapping her tail around her paws as she tried to push down her sense of approaching danger. She had never seen Cinderpelt receive a message from their warrior ancestors before, and she was unsettled by the fear she had seen in her mentor’s eyes on the journey back through the damp green forest.
“StarClan have sent me an omen,” the medicine cat began. She described how the Twoleg rubbish had caught the sun’s rays and set fire to the bracken. “In the flames I saw a leaping tiger. Fire and tiger together, devouring the bracken. Such power, unleashed, could destroy the forest.”
Firestar was crouched in front of her, with his paws tucked in and his green gaze fixed on her face so intently that Leafpaw almost expected her mentor’s grey fur to start smoking like the bracken burning under the hot sunlight. “What do you think it means?”
“I’ve been trying to work it out,” Cinderpelt meowed. “I’m not sure I’m right, but . . . in the old prophecy, ‘fire will save the clan,’ ‘fire’ meant you, Firestar.”
The ThunderClan leader gave a start of surprise. “You think it refers to me now? Well . . . perhaps, but what about ‘tiger’? Tigerstar is dead.”
Leafpaw felt uneasiness stir inside her as her father calmly named the fearsome cat who had shed so much blood in his quest for power.
“He is dead—but his son still lives,” Cinderpelt pointed out quietly. She glanced at Leafpaw sitting in the shadows, as if she were uncertain her apprentice should be hearing this. Leafpaw stayed absolutely still, determined to listen to the rest.
“Brambleclaw?” Firestar exclaimed. “Are you saying he’s going to destroy the forest? Come on, Cinderpelt. He’s as loyal as any warrior in the Clan. Look at the way he fought for us in the battle against BloodClan.”
Leafpaw felt a sudden urge to say something in Bramble claw’s defence, though it was not her place to speak here. She did not know the young warrior particularly well, but some instinct inside her cried out, No! He would never harm his Clan, or the forest.
“Firestar, use your head.” Cinderpelt sounded irritable. “I haven’t said that Brambleclaw will destroy the forest. But if ‘tiger’ doesn’t mean him, then which cat does it mean? And something else . . . if ‘tiger’ is Tigerstar’s son, then maybe ‘fire’ is Firestar’s daughter.”
Leafpaw flinched as if a badger had sunk its teeth into her fur.
“Oh, I don’t mean you.” Cinderpelt turned to her apprentice with amusement gleaming faintly in her blue eyes. “I’ll keep an eye on you, don’t worry.” Glancing back at Firestar, she added, “No, I think it more likely means Squirrelpaw. She has a flame-coloured pelt like you, after all.”
Leafpaw’s brief sense of relief was swallowed up in fear and dismay as she realised where the medicine cat’s logic was leading. Her own sister, the cat who was dearer to her than all others—was she prophesied to do something so terrible that her name would be cursed by all the Clans, just as queens told their kits now that if they were naughty the terrible Tigerstar would come and get them?
“My own daughter . . . she’s headstrong, yes, but not dangerous . . .” Firestar’s eyes were deeply troubled; Leafpaw saw that he had too much respect for Cinderpelt’s wisdom to argue with her interpretation, though it was bitter as mouse bile to hear. “What do you think I should do?” he asked helplessly.
Cinderpelt shook her head. “That’s your decision, Firestar. I can only tell you what StarClan have shown me. Fire and tiger together, and danger to the forest. But I’d advise you not to tell the Clan yet, not until I receive another sign. They’ll only panic, and that will make things worse.” Her head swivelled to fix an icy stare on Leafpaw. “Say nothing about this, on your loyalty to StarClan.”
“Not even to Squirrelpaw?” Leafpaw asked nervously.
“Especially not to Squirrelpaw.”
“I must tell Greystripe,” Firestar mewed. “And Sandstorm—StarClan know what Sandstorm will think about this!”
Cinderpelt nodded. “That is wise, I think.”
“And it might be as well to keep the two of them apart.” Firestar spoke half to himself. Leafpaw could see how he was torn between doing his best for his Clan, and his deep feelings for his daughter and the warrior who had once been his apprentice. “She’s an apprentice, he’s a warrior; it shouldn’t be hard,” Firestar went on. “We’ll make sure they have enough to do, and not in each other’s company. Maybe StarClan will send another omen to tell us when the danger is past?” he suggested, glancing hopefully at Cinderpelt.
“Maybe.” But the medicine cat’s tone was not reassuring. She rose and flicked her tail for Leafpaw to follow her. “If they do, you’ll be the first to know.”
She dipped her head and backed out of the den. Leafpaw moved to follow her, hesitated, then rushed across to her father and buried her muzzle in his pelt, wanting to be comforted as much as to comfort him. Whatever this omen might mean, she was scared by it. She felt Firestar’s tongue rasp warmly over her ear. Her eyes met his and she saw her own sorrow and fear reflected there.
Then Cinderpelt called “Leafpaw!” from outside, and the moment was over. Leafpaw bowed her head to her leader and left him alone, to wait for further news from StarClan about the destiny of his cats.
CHAPTER 9
Brambleclaw chose a plump starling from the fresh-kill pile, carrying it a few paces away before he began to gulp it down. Sunhigh was just past, and the clearing was full of cats enjoying the warmth. Brambleclaw caught a glimpse of Leafpaw padding over to the elders’ den, a wad of herbs in her jaws. He was surprised to see how unhappy she looked; perhaps she was in trouble with her mentor, though he found it hard to imagine that Cinderpelt would drive any cat to look so worried.
Closer to the nettle patch, Firestar was eating with Greystripe and Sandstorm. As Brambleclaw bit into his prey he saw his leader raise his head and give him a hard stare, as if he might be in trouble. Brambleclaw couldn’t remember anything he had done wrong that his leader knew about, but his fur prickled uneasily; surely Firestar hadn’t found out about the dreams?
He braced himself for his leader to call him over and tell him what was on his mind, but when he heard a cat speak his name it was Squirrelpaw. She snatched a mouse from the heap of fresh-kill and bounced across to sit by his side.
“Whew!” she exclaimed, dropping the mouse. “I thought I’d never finish feeding the elders. Longtail has the appetite of a starving fox!” She took a bite from her piece of prey and gulped it down. “So what’s happening?” she asked. “Have you had any more messages from StarClan?”
Brambleclaw swallowed his mouthful of starling. “Ssshhh, not so loud,” he hissed.
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nbsp; It was the day after his encounter with Crowpaw and his visit to ShadowClan territory, and he had still not decided how much to tell Squirrelpaw about the second dream. If he vanished on the day before the half-moon without confiding in her, he would have broken his part of their bargain, but he did not know what he would say if she demanded to come with them.
“Well, have you?” Squirrelpaw persisted, lowering her voice.
Brambleclaw chewed slowly, playing for time. He had just decided that he would have to tell the nosy she-cat something, if only to stop all her questions, when he realised that Firestar had padded over from the nettle patch and was standing over them. He stiffened, instinctively unsheathing his claws so that they sank into the breast of the starling.
“Squirrelpaw, I want you to go out with Thornclaw,” Firestar ordered. “He’s going to show Shrewpaw the best hunting places near Fourtrees.”
Squirrelpaw took another gulp of mouse and swiped her tongue over her whiskers. “Do I have to? I’ve been up there with Dustpelt loads of times.”
The tip of Firestar’s tail twitched back and forth. “Yes, you do. When your leader gives you an order, you obey it.”
Squirrelpaw rolled her eyes at Brambleclaw before picking up the last of the mouse and swallowing it.
“Now, Squirrelpaw.” Firestar’s tail twitched again. “Thornclaw’s waiting.” He nodded towards the tabby warrior, who was padding across the clearing with Shrewpaw.
“You could at least let me finish my mouse in peace,” Squirrelpaw argued. “I’ve been on my paws all morning, chasing after the elders.”
“And so you should be!” Firestar’s voice was sharp. “That’s what being an apprentice is all about. I don’t want to hear you complaining.”
“I’m not complaining!” Squirrelpaw leaped to her paws, her fur bristling. “I only said I wanted a bit of peace and quiet to eat. Why are you always nagging at me? You’re not my mentor, so stop acting like you are. Or are you just afraid that I’ll let you down, and not live up to our great leader’s shining example?”
Without waiting for a response, she spun around and flounced off to meet Thornclaw and Shrewpaw near the entrance to the camp. Brambleclaw noticed that the tabby warrior looked surprised when Squirrelpaw spoke to him, though he was too far off to hear what she said, and it crossed his mind that Thornclaw hadn’t been expecting her to join the patrol at all. Then the warrior nodded, and all three cats vanished into the gorse tunnel.
Firestar watched Squirrelpaw go with a grim look. He didn’t say a word to Brambleclaw, but turned and padded back to Sandstorm and Greystripe.
Brambleclaw heard Sandstorm growl, “You know that’s the wrong way to handle her. If you order her about, she’ll just get more stubborn.”
Firestar replied in a low voice that Brambleclaw couldn’t catch; then the cats got up and headed toward Firestar’s den.
What was all that about? Brambleclaw wondered. Firestar was annoyed with Squirrelpaw, so he made up an excuse to get her out of the camp. His blood ran chill. To get her away from me, maybe?
If he was right, there could only be one reason. Squirrel paw must have told her father about the first dream, and the meeting with the other cats at Fourtrees. She might have done it deliberately, or she might have let something slip because she wasn’t thinking. Whatever had happened, Brambleclaw knew there would be more trouble to come, but at least it meant he didn’t have to tell her about the second dream; she had obviously broken the agreement they had made at Fourtrees.
Trying to put his fears about what Firestar might do next out of his mind, he went back to the fresh-kill pile. If he was going to set off on a long journey in a few days’ time, it would be a good idea to eat more and build up his strength. He would also ask Cinderpelt about the travelling herbs that cats ate to give them strength for the journey to Highstones, as long as he could think of a way to do it without arousing the medicine cat’s suspicions.
He was just reaching down to pick up a juicy-looking vole when he heard a voice behind him. “Hey—what do you think you’re doing?”
It was Mousefur. Brambleclaw looked around to see the brown she-cat glaring at him from a few foxlengths away.
“I’ve been watching you,” she went on. “You’ve already eaten. You haven’t hunted enough today to take any more prey.”
Embarrassment flooded over Brambleclaw. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“So I should think,” Mousefur snapped.
Cloudtail, who was standing beside her, let out an amused purr. “He’s trying to compete with Greystripe,” he teased. “Looks like one big eater isn’t enough for ThunderClan. Never mind, Brambleclaw. Do you want to hunt with me and Brightheart? We’ll catch as many voles as you can eat, and double the fresh-kill pile.”
“Er, thanks,” Brambleclaw stammered.
“Hang on, I’ll just fetch Brightheart.” Cloudtail raced over to the warriors’ den, and Mousefur, with a last glare at Brambleclaw, followed him.
While Brambleclaw waited for his friends to reappear, he decided to suggest going up to Fourtrees, where they might come across Thornclaw’s patrol. He needed to get hold of Squirrelpaw and find out exactly what she had told her father. If Firestar knew that StarClan had chosen four cats, each from a different Clan, would he try to warn the other leaders, and put a stop to their journey before it even started?
But Brambleclaw’s patrol saw nothing of Squirrelpaw and the others while they were out, and by the time he returned to camp with Cloudtail and Brightheart, with plenty of prey to add to the pile, night was falling. Most of the cats were already heading for their dens. Brambleclaw kept watch until the evening patrol had left and the moon had appeared above the trees, but he still did not see Squirrelpaw. He slept badly that night, worried about the prophecy and Squirrelpaw’s unwanted involvement.
The next morning he pushed his way out of the warriors’ den as soon as he woke, determined to find the ginger apprentice and get some answers to his questions. But it seemed as if StarClan itself were against him, making him hiss out loud with frustration. No sooner had he set paw in the clearing than Greystripe called him to join the dawn patrol with Sorreltail and Rainwhisker. By the time they returned, after a circuit of the whole territory, it was almost sunhigh. When Brambleclaw checked the apprentices’ den it was empty, and as he could not see Dustpelt in the camp either, he assumed that Squirrelpaw had gone out training with her mentor.
He took a nap in the heat of the day, his worries soothed for a short while by the quiet murmur of bees and the sigh of wind in the branches, and woke to catch sight of Squirrelpaw disappearing into the gorse tunnel, a wad of old bedding clamped in her jaws. Springing to his paws, he was about to follow her when a cat called his name.
Brackenfur was padding toward him with his apprentice, Whitepaw. For some reason the golden brown tom looked uneasy. “Hi, Brambleclaw. I . . . I thought you might like to come and watch a training session,” he meowed.
Brambleclaw stared at him in surprise. Warriors hardly ever watched the apprentices training, unless they were mentors themselves. With a swift glance at the tunnel where Squirrelpaw was now out of sight, he replied, “Er . . . thanks, Brackenfur, but some other time, OK?”
He headed quickly toward the camp entrance, but realised after a couple of heartbeats that Brackenfur was keeping pace with him.
“It’s just that Firestar thought it might be good practice for you,” the older warrior explained. “For when you have an apprentice of your own.”
Brambleclaw halted. “Let me get this straight,” he meowed. “Firestar asked you to tell me to watch you and Whitepaw training?”
Brackenfur’s gaze slid past him and he looked acutely embarrassed. “That’s right,” he mewed.
“But we never do that,” Brambleclaw protested. “Anyway, it’ll be moons before Ferncloud’s kits are ready for mentors.”
Brackenfur shrugged. “An order’s an order, Brambleclaw.”
Brambleclaw blinked. “It’s
an order?” He shook his head crossly. It wasn’t StarClan that was against him—it was his own leader. And it was hardly surprising, if Squirrelpaw had told Firestar that one of his warriors had been having prophetic dreams without telling the rest of the Clan.
Fuming, he followed Brackenfur and his apprentice out of the camp and along the ravine to the sandy hollow where the training sessions took place. He sat on the edge, watching Brackenfur put Whitepaw through her fighting moves. A little later, Mousefur arrived with Spiderpaw, and the two apprentices started a mock battle. Brambleclaw watched as Whitepaw darted in to give Spiderpaw a quick nip in the neck; Spiderpaw spun around at once, his long black limbs whirling as he leaped on her and pinned her to the ground. They were both making good progress, Brambleclaw noticed idly, yawning with boredom.
I could be doing something useful, he thought miserably. There were only two days to go before he was due to meet the other cats at Fourtrees and set out on their journey. He needed to talk to Squirrelpaw soon.
When Mousefur called a halt and the two apprentices climbed out of the hollow, shaking sand from their fur, Brambleclaw returned to camp even more determined to find Squirrelpaw and get some answers. To his relief, when he emerged from the gorse tunnel he spotted her with Shrewpaw beside the apprentices’ den.
Racing across the clearing, he halted in front of her and demanded, “I want to talk to you.”
He knew that issuing orders was not the way to handle Squirrelpaw. Ready for her to snarl or spit, he was surprised when she mewed in a hurried, low voice, with an uneasy glance at Shrewpaw, “OK, but not here. Meet me behind the nursery.”
Brambleclaw nodded and padded away to greet Sootfur and Ashfur, who were returning with fresh-kill. He paused at the entrance to the nursery where Ferncloud was watching her kits play, forcing himself to sound normal as he commented on how strong and healthy they were growing. Finally he made his way behind the nursery, a sandy area bounded by nettles where the cats went to make their dirt.