Into the Wild

  Fireheart stifled his instinctive meow of greeting. The sky was growing light, but until he knew for sure that the sun was above the horizon, he dared not break his silence. Impatience fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird. He must speak with Bluestar as soon as he could. But for now, all he could do was nod respectfully at the two cats as they passed him.

  Beside him, Graystripe nudged Fireheart and pointed upward with his nose. An orange glow was just visible on the horizon.

  “Glad to see the dawn, you two?” Whitestorm’s deep meow took Fireheart by surprise. He had not noticed the white warrior approaching. Fireheart and Graystripe nodded together.

  “It’s all right; you may speak now. Your vigil is over.” Whitestorm’s voice was kind. Yesterday he had fought side by side with Fireheart and Graystripe in the battle with ShadowClan. There was a new respect in his eyes as he looked at them.

  “Thank you, Whitestorm,” Fireheart meowed gratefully. He stood and stretched his stiff legs one at a time.

  Graystripe pushed himself up too. “Brrrrr!” he meowed, shaking the chill from his fur. “I thought the sun would never come up!”

  A scornful voice mewed from outside the apprentices’ den. “The great warrior speaks!”

  It was Sandpaw, her pale orange coat fluffed up with hostility. Dustpaw was sitting beside her. With his dark tabby pelt, he looked like Sandpaw’s shadow. He puffed out his chest importantly and mocked, “I’m surprised such heroes even feel the cold!” Sandpaw purred with amusement.

  Whitestorm shot them a stern look. “Go and find something to eat; then rest,” he ordered Fireheart and Graystripe. The older warrior turned away and padded toward the apprentices’ den. “Come on, you two,” he meowed to Sandpaw and Dustpaw. “It’s time for your training.”

  “I hope he has them chasing blue squirrels all day!” Graystripe hissed to Fireheart as they headed toward the corner where a few pieces of fresh-kill remained from last night.

  “But there aren’t any blue squirrels,” Fireheart mewed in confusion.

  “Precisely!” Graystripe’s amber eyes gleamed.

  “You can’t exactly blame them. They did begin their training before us,” Fireheart pointed out mildly. “If they’d fought in the battle yesterday, they’d probably have been made warriors too.”

  “I suppose.” Graystripe shrugged. “Hey, look!” They’d reached the fresh-kill pile. “One mouse each and a chaffinch to share!”

  The two friends picked up their meal and looked at each other. Graystripe’s eyes suddenly sparkled with delight. “I suppose we take it to the warriors’ side of the camp now,” he meowed.

  “I suppose we do,” Fireheart purred, padding after his friend to the patch of nettles where they had often watched Whitestorm, Tigerclaw, and the other warriors share fresh-kill.

  “Now what?” asked Graystripe, gulping down his last mouthful. “I don’t know about you, but I think I could sleep for half a moon.”

  “Me too,” Fireheart agreed.

  The two friends got to their paws and made their way toward the warriors’ den. Fireheart stuck his head through the low-hanging branches. Mousefur and Longtail were still asleep on the other side of the den.

  He pushed his way inside and found a patch of moss at the edge. The smell told him it wasn’t a sleeping place already used by another warrior. Graystripe settled down beside him.

  Fireheart listened as Graystripe’s steady breaths relaxed into long, muffled snores. Fireheart felt equally exhausted, but he was still desperate to talk to Bluestar. From where he lay, his head flat to the earth, he could just see the camp entrance. He stared at it, waiting for his leader’s return, but gradually his eyes began to close, and he gave in to his longing for sleep.

  Fireheart could hear a roaring around him, like wind in tall trees. The acrid stench of the Thunderpath stung his nostrils, together with a new smell, sharper and more terrifying. Fire! Flames lapped at the black sky, throwing glowing cinders up into a starless night. To Fireheart’s amazement, silhouettes of cats flitted in front of the fire. Why hadn’t they run away?

  One of them stopped and looked straight at Fireheart. The tom’s night-eyes glinted in the darkness and he lifted his long, straight tail, as if in greeting.

  Fireheart trembled as a memory burst into his mind of the words that Spottedleaf, the former ThunderClan medicine cat, had said to him before her untimely death: “Fire will save the Clan!” Could it be something to do with the strange cats that showed no fear of fire?

  “Wake up, Fireheart!”

  Fireheart flicked up his head, startled out of his dream by Tigerclaw’s growl.

  “You were mewing in your sleep!”

  Still dazed, Fireheart sat up and shook his head. “Y-yes, Tigerclaw!” With a pang of alarm, he wondered if he had repeated Spottedleaf’s words out loud. He had dreamed like this before—dreams so vivid that he could taste them, and which had later come true. Fireheart certainly did not want Tigerclaw to suspect him of having powers that usually StarClan gave only to a medicine cat.

  Moonlight shone through the leafy den wall. Fireheart realized he must have slept through the whole day.

  “You and Graystripe will join the evening patrol,” Tigerclaw told him. “Hurry up!” The dark tabby turned and stalked out of the den.

  Fireheart let the fur relax on his shoulders. Clearly Tigerclaw didn’t suspect anything unusual about his dream. But while Fireheart’s secret was safe, he was equally determined to expose the murderous truth about Tigerclaw’s role in Redtail’s death.

  Fireheart licked his lips. Graystripe lay beside him washing his flank. They had just finished sharing a meal beside the camp clearing. The sun had set and Fireheart could see the moon, almost full now, gleaming in a cold, clear sky. The past few days had been busy. It seemed that every time they lay down for a rest, Tigerclaw sent them out on patrol or a hunting mission. Fireheart had stayed alert, looking for a chance to talk with Bluestar alone, but when he wasn’t on one of Tigerclaw’s missions, the ThunderClan leader always seemed to have her deputy at her side.

  Fireheart began to wash his paw, his eyes flicking around the camp, searching hopefully for Bluestar.

  “What are you looking for?” meowed Graystripe through a tongueful of fur.

  “Bluestar,” Fireheart answered, lowering his paw.

  “Why?” Graystripe stopped washing and looked up at his friend. “You’ve had one eye on her ever since our vigil. What are you planning to do?”

  “I have to tell her where Ravenpaw is, and warn her about Tigerclaw,” Fireheart meowed.

  “You promised Ravenpaw you’d tell them he was dead!” Graystripe sounded amazed.

  “I only promised to tell Tigerclaw he was dead. Bluestar should know the whole story. She needs to know what her deputy is capable of.”

  Graystripe lowered his voice to an urgent hiss. “But we only have Ravenpaw’s word that Tigerclaw killed Redtail.”

  “Don’t you believe him?” Fireheart couldn’t help feeling shocked by his friend’s doubts.

  “Look, if Tigerclaw lied about killing Oakheart in revenge for Redtail’s death, that means Redtail must have killed Oakheart himself. And I can’t believe that Redtail would have deliberately killed another Clan deputy in battle. It goes against the warrior code—we fight to prove our strength and defend our territory, not to kill each other.”

  “But I’m not trying to make accusations against Redtail!” Fireheart protested. “It’s Tigerclaw who is the problem.” Redtail had been the ThunderClan deputy before Tigerclaw. Fireheart had never met him, but he knew Redtail had been deeply respected by all the Clan.

  Graystripe didn’t meet Fireheart’s gaze. “What you are saying has implications for Redtail’s honor. And none of the other cats have a problem with Tigerclaw. It was only Ravenpaw who was scared of him.”

  An uneasy shiver ran down Fireheart’s spine. “So you think Ravenpaw made the story up because he didn’t get along with his mentor?”
he meowed scornfully.

  “No,” mumbled Graystripe. “I just think we should be careful.”

  Fireheart looked into his friend’s worried eyes and began to wonder. He supposed Graystripe did have a point—they had been warriors for only a few days, so they were in no position to start hurling accusations at the Clan’s most senior warrior.

  “It’s okay,” Fireheart meowed at last. “You can stay out of it.” A twinge of regret flickered in his belly as Graystripe nodded and returned to washing. Fireheart believed that Graystripe was wrong to think it was only Ravenpaw who had a problem with Tigerclaw. Fireheart’s own instincts told him that the ThunderClan deputy should not be trusted. He had to share his suspicions with Bluestar, for her safety and the safety of the Clan.

  A glimpse of gray fur on the other side of the clearing told Fireheart that Bluestar had emerged from her den—alone. He scrambled to his paws, but the ThunderClan leader leaped straight up onto the Highrock and called to the Clan. Fireheart lashed his tail impatiently.

  Graystripe’s ears flicked excitedly as he heard Bluestar’s call. “A naming ceremony?” he meowed. “It must be Longtail getting his first apprentice. He’s been dropping hints for days.” He bounded over to join the cats gathering at the edge of the clearing, and, still itching with frustration, Fireheart followed.

  A small black-and-white kit padded into the clearing. His soft paws made no sound on the hard earth. He walked toward the Highrock with his pale eyes lowered and Fireheart almost expected to see him tremble—there was something in the slope of this kit’s shoulders that made him seem too young and timid to be an apprentice. Longtail won’t be impressed! Fireheart thought, remembering Longtail’s scorn when Fireheart had arrived at the camp for the first time. The warrior had taunted him viciously on his first day with the Clan, mocking his kittypet origins. Fireheart had disliked him ever since.

  “From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed, staring down at the kit, “until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Swiftpaw.”

  There was no flash of determination in the eyes of the black-and-white kit as he looked up at his leader. Instead his amber eyes were wide with anxiety.

  Fireheart turned his head as Longtail padded toward his new apprentice.

  Bluestar spoke again. “Longtail, you were Darkstripe’s apprentice. He taught you well, and you have become a fierce and loyal warrior. I hope you will pass some of these qualities on to Swiftpaw.”

  Fireheart searched Longtail’s face for an expression of disdain as he looked down at Swiftpaw. But the warrior’s eyes softened as he met his new apprentice’s gaze, and gently the two Clan cats touched noses. “It’s okay, you’re doing fine,” Longtail murmured encouragingly. Yeah, right, Fireheart thought bitterly. Just because he’s Clanborn. Longtail sure didn’t welcome me like that. He glanced around the rest of the Clan and felt a pang of resentment as they began to murmur congratulations to the new apprentice.

  “What’s up with you?” whispered Graystripe. “That’ll be us one day.”

  Fireheart nodded, suddenly cheered by the thought of getting his own apprentice, and pushed away his resentment. He was a part of ThunderClan now, and surely that was all that mattered?

  The next night brought the full moon. Fireheart knew he should be looking forward to his first Gathering as a warrior, but he was still determined to find a chance to tell Bluestar everything he knew about Tigerclaw, and the thought of it lay like a cold stone in his stomach.

  “Have you got maggot-gut or something?” meowed Graystripe beside him. “You’re pulling some very weird faces!”

  Fireheart looked at his friend, wishing he could confide in him, but he’d promised to leave Graystripe out of it. “I’m fine,” he meowed. “Come on. I hear Bluestar calling.”

  The two cats trotted over to the group assembling in the clearing. Bluestar dipped her head to acknowledge their arrival. Then she turned and led the cats out of the camp.

  Fireheart paused while the other cats scrambled past him up the steep trail that led to the forest above. This journey might give him just enough time to speak to Bluestar, and he wanted to gather his thoughts.

  “Are you coming?” Graystripe’s voice called down.

  “Yep!” Firepaw flexed his powerful hind legs and began to leap from boulder to boulder, leaving the camp behind.

  At the top, he paused to catch his breath, his sides heaving. The forest stretched away before him. Beneath his paws he could feel the crisp crackle of newly fallen leaves. Silverpelt glittered in the sky like morning dew scattered on black fur.

  Fireheart thought of his first journey to Fourtrees with Tigerclaw and Lionheart. He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered Lionheart. Graystripe’s mentor, and ThunderClan’s deputy between Redtail and Tigerclaw, had been a warmhearted, golden warrior. He’d been killed in battle, and Tigerclaw had taken his place. On Fireheart’s first visit to Fourtrees, Lionheart had taken the apprentices on a roundabout route, through Tallpines, past Sunningrocks, and along the RiverClan border. Tonight Bluestar would lead them straight through the heart of ThunderClan territory. Fireheart could see her already disappearing into the undergrowth, and he charged after the party of cats.

  Bluestar was at the front, next to Tigerclaw. Fireheart ignored Graystripe’s surprised meow and caught up with the Clan leader. “Bluestar,” he called, panting, as he drew up beside her. “May I talk to you?”

  Bluestar glanced at him and nodded. “Take the lead, Tigerclaw,” she meowed. She let her pace slow, and Tigerclaw bounded past her. The other cats followed the dark tabby without question as he raced on through the undergrowth.

  Bluestar and Fireheart dropped into a steady trot. Within a moment they were alone.

  The path emerged from the thick ferns into a small clearing. Bluestar leaped onto a fallen tree and sat down, curling her tail over her front paws. “What is it, Fireheart?” she asked.

  Fireheart hesitated, suddenly struck by doubt. Bluestar was the cat who had encouraged him to leave his kittypet life and join the Clan. Since then she had trusted him time and time again when other cats had questioned his loyalty to a Clan whose blood he didn’t share. What would she say when Fireheart told her that he had lied about Ravenpaw?

  “Speak,” Bluestar ordered as the pawsteps of the other ThunderClan cats faded into the distance.

  Fireheart took a deep breath. “Ravenpaw’s not dead.” Bluestar’s tail twitched in surprise, but she listened silently as Fireheart continued. “Graystripe and I took him to WindClan’s hunting grounds. I . . . I think he may have joined Barley.” Barley was a loner, not a forest cat but not a kittypet either. He lived on a Twoleg farm that lay on the route to Highstones, a sacred place for all the cats in the forest.

  The ThunderClan leader stared past Fireheart into the depths of the forest. Fireheart searched her face anxiously, trying to read her expression. Was she angry? But he could see no anger in her wide, blue eyes.

  After several long moments, Bluestar spoke. “I am glad to hear that Ravenpaw is still alive. I hope he is happier living with Barley than he was in the forest.”

  “B-but he was born into ThunderClan!” Fireheart stammered, taken aback by his leader’s calm acceptance of Ravenpaw’s departure.

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean he was suited to Clan life,” Bluestar pointed out. “After all, you aren’t Clanborn, yet you’ve become a fine warrior. Ravenpaw may find his true path elsewhere.”

  “But he didn’t leave ThunderClan because he wanted to,” Fireheart protested. “It was impossible for him to stay!”

  “Impossible?” Bluestar rested her blue gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

  Fireheart looked down at the ground.

  “Well?” Bluestar prompted.

  Fireheart’s mouth was dry. “Ravenpaw knew a secret about Tigerclaw,” he croaked. “I . . . I think Tigerclaw was planning to kill him. Or else turn the Clan against him.”

  Bluestar’s tail flicked from s
ide to side, and Fireheart saw her shoulders stiffen. “Why would you think that? What was this secret that Ravenpaw knew?”

  Fireheart answered reluctantly, meeting her stern expression as boldly as he dared. “That Tigerclaw killed Redtail in the battle with RiverClan.” Redtail had been the ThunderClan deputy before Lionheart. Fireheart had never met him, but he knew Redtail had been deeply respected by all the Clan.

  Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “A warrior would never kill another of his Clan! Even you should know that—you’ve lived with us long enough.” Fireheart recoiled at her words, flattening his ears. It was the second time tonight she’d referred to his kittypet roots.

  Bluestar went on. “Tigerclaw reported that it was RiverClan’s deputy, Oakheart, who killed Redtail,” she meowed. “Ravenpaw must be mistaken. Did he actually see Tigerclaw kill Redtail?”

  Fireheart nervously flicked his tail, stirring the leaves behind him. “He said he did.”

  “And you know that by saying this, you are questioning Redtail’s honor, because he must have been the cat that was responsible for Oakheart’s death? One deputy would never kill another in battle, not if it could possibly be avoided. And Redtail was the most honorable warrior I have ever known.” Bluestar’s eyes clouded with pain, and Fireheart felt a pang of dismay that he should have hurt her memory of her former deputy, even if unintentionally.

  “I cannot account for Redtail’s actions,” he murmured. “I only know that Ravenpaw truly believes Tigerclaw was responsible for Redtail’s death.”

  Bluestar sighed and relaxed her shoulders. “We all know that Ravenpaw has a vivid imagination,” she meowed gently, her eyes sympathetic. “He was badly injured in the battle, and he left before the fighting was over. Can you be sure he didn’t fill in the parts he’d missed?”

  Before Fireheart could reply, a yowl echoed through the forest, and Tigerclaw bounded out of the undergrowth. His eyes flickered suspiciously over Fireheart for a moment before he addressed Bluestar. “We’re waiting for you at the border.”