The Darkest Hour

  His thoughts were interrupted by a yowl from Cloudtail among the bushes at the top of the ravine. “Over here! She went this way!”

  When Firestar bounded up to join him, he too could distinguish the faintest trace of Tawnypaw’s scent. He and Cloudtail followed it into the trees, noses to the ground as they focused on the traces of cat among all the stronger, distracting scents of prey. No other cat’s scent joined Tawnypaw’s. This far, at least, she had been alone.

  Then, at the edge of a clearing, they lost the scent trail again, and not even Cloudtail’s sharp nose could pick it up.

  A cold wind had sprung up, driving clouds across the moon and ruffling the cats’ fur, and as Firestar cast back and forth across the clearing in a last effort to find the scent again, a thin, icy rain began to fall.

  “Mouse dung!” Cloudtail spat. “That just about finishes us.”

  Reluctantly Firestar agreed. Calling Sandstorm and Thornclaw back from their own searches, he meowed, “Let’s get back. We can’t do any more.”

  Sandstorm stood still for a moment, gazing in the direction that the scent trail had seemed to lead. “It looks as if she was heading for Fourtrees.”

  That made sense, Firestar reflected. Fourtrees was the obvious place to go if Tawnypaw wanted to meet with a cat from another Clan, or to cross into another Clan’s territory. Every hair on his pelt prickled with dread. He couldn’t persuade himself any longer that Tawnypaw had just wandered off to hunt, and he could see from the troubled looks of his warriors that they shared his growing conviction: Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan.

  When the patrol returned to the camp, Brackenfur and Bramblepaw were still anxiously waiting in the clearing. They had been joined by Tawnypaw’s mother, Goldenflower, and Mousefur. All four cats looked bedraggled and despairing in the rain that was falling more heavily now.

  “Well?” Goldenflower asked as Firestar came up to her. “What did you find?”

  “No thing,” Firestar meowed quietly. “We don’t know where she is.”

  “Then why aren’t you still out there looking?” Goldenflower’s voice was sharp.

  Firestar shook his head. “There’s nothing more we can do in the dark and the rain. She could be anywhere.”

  “You don’t care, do you?” Goldenflower’s meow rose, high-pitched with anger. “You think she left deliberately! You never trusted her!”

  Firestar struggled to answer, knowing that her accusation was half-true. But Goldenflower did not wait. Instead, she spun around and disappeared beneath the branches of the warriors’ den.

  “Wait!” Firestar called, but she ignored him.

  “She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Sandstorm meowed sympathetically. “I’ll go and calm her down.” She slipped into the den behind Goldenflower.

  Tired and discouraged, Firestar turned to Bramblepaw, expecting a similar accusation from him. But his apprentice was standing quietly, and the look in his amber eyes was unreadable.

  “It’s okay, Firestar,” he meowed. “I know you did all you could. Thank you.” Head down and tail drooping, he made his way back to the apprentices’ den.

  Firestar watched him go. Exhaustion flooded over him; it seemed like several moons since Graystripe had first suggested going to RiverClan to see his kits. A chilly gray dawn was beginning to seep into the sky, and Firestar desperately needed to rest, but there was one more duty to perform first. He had to visit Cinderpelt, and make sure the RiverClan cats would recover from their ordeal.

  As he padded across the clearing to the medicine cat’s den, Firestar felt all his doubts about his leadership welling up again. One warrior banished, and gone to join his enemy—and willing to kill to prove his new loyalties. One apprentice vanished. And the whole forest caught up in terror and hatred that Firestar saw no way to combat. The vision of himself wearing the mane of LionClan that he had seen in the stream seemed a long way away. If StarClan really had destined him for greatness, Firestar couldn’t help wondering if they had chosen the wrong cat.

  Standing on the Highrock, Firestar watched as his Clan emerged from their dens. It was the morning after his expedition to RiverClan territory, and he had called a meeting to tell his warriors exactly what had happened, and to explain the presence of the three RiverClan cats.

  Mistyfoot and the two apprentices were sitting at the base of the Highrock with Graystripe and Cinderpelt. Firestar was pleased to see that they already looked stronger, as if their energy was coming back after a good meal and with Cinderpelt’s care.

  Ravenpaw had left at dawn, his injured ear swathed in cobweb and a gleam in his eyes as he recalled the battle on the stepping-stones.

  “Amazing how my old training came back to me,” he meowed to Firestar. “I hadn’t forgotten the fighting moves.”

  “You did brilliantly,” Firestar purred. “You’re a real friend to ThunderClan.”

  “Now that Tigerstar is rising to power, I think ThunderClan needs all the friends it can get,” the loner mewed seriously.

  Ravenpaw had spent a few moments by Bluestar’s grave and then set out for the farm near Highstones. Firestar wondered if he would need to call on Ravenpaw for help again. Tigerstar’s enemies would have to unite to drive him out of the forest—yet Firestar knew that the final confrontation must be his alone.

  He waited until all the Clan cats had settled themselves around the Highrock, and then began to speak.

  “You’ve all heard by now that Graystripe, Ravenpaw, and I went over to RiverClan territory last night.” He described the Bonehill and the rotting prey strewn around the clearing, and how Tigerstar had whipped up the hatred of his warriors against half-Clans—cats whose parents came from two different Clans. Firestar’s voice shook as he described the murder of Stonefur, and the cats below him shuddered and flatten e d themselves against the ground in sympathy and terror.

  Dustpelt growled, “Why aren’t we attacking ShadowClan right now, then, for revenge?”

  “Because it’s not as simple as that,” Firestar replied. “ThunderClan alone can’t take on ShadowClan and RiverClan combined, and expect to win.”

  “We can have a good try,” retorted Cloudtail, springing to his paws.

  “But where would we attack?” asked Firestar. “There’ll be warriors from both Clans in the RiverClan camp, and I don’t expect TigerStar has left the ShadowClan camp unguarded.

  “I feel just the same as you,” he went on. “I don’t like what Tigerstar is doing, and I’m afraid of what he might do in the future. I’d like to know what StarClan want us to do, but so far I’ve had no word from them. Cinderpelt, have they spoken to you?”

  The medicine cat glanced up at him. “No, not yet.”

  With an angry flick of his ears, Cloudtail sat down again, and Brightheart rubbed against his shoulder to calm him down.

  In the brief pause, Firestar wondered if it was true to say that he had received no message from StarClan. There had been the vision of himself in the stream, wearing the glory of LionClan. He thought again of Bluestar’s prophecy that Four will become two; lion and tiger will join in battle.

  Suddenly understanding dawned on Firestar like a ray of sunlight striking through branches. Four Clans would become two; did that mean ThunderClan must join with WindClan?

  “We’re still here, Firestar!” Dustpelt’s voice disturbed his thoughts.

  Firestar started. “Sorry,” he meowed. “I’ve called you here to welcome the three RiverClan cats we rescued. You all know Mistyfoot, and Featherpaw and Stormpaw, Graystripe’s kits. I think we should offer them a place in ThunderClan until it’s safe for them to go home.”

  Murmuring broke out around the clearing as he made the suggestion. Most cats agreed with him, Firestar could see, but a few others were looking uncertain.

  Longtail was the first to voice his doubts. “That’s all very well, Firestar, and I’m sorry for what they’ve been through, but if they stay here, what are they going to eat? It’s the middle of leaf-bare. We’ve g
ot our work cut out feeding ourselves.”

  “I’ll hunt for them!” Graystripe sprang up to face the Clan. “I can feed all three of them, and more of the Clan as well.”

  “We’re not helpless, you know,” added Mistyfoot. “Give us a day or two to get stronger, and we’ll hunt for ourselves and you as well.”

  Mousefur got up and spoke directly to Firestar. “It’s not a question of who’s going to hunt. This is a harder leaf-bare than usual, after the fire. We’re all hungry, and we’ll need all the strength we can get if we’re going to have to fight this TigerClan. I say they should go home.”

  Sandstorm leaped to her paws before Firestar could speak.” They can’t go home,” she pointed out. “Weren’t you listening? They’ll be murdered if they do, like Stonefur.”

  “Do you want it to be known that ThunderClan sent cats to their death?” Brackenfur added.

  Mousefur looked down at her paws, anger making her fur bristle.

  “It’s worth mentioning,” Whitestorm meowed calmly, “that all these cats are half ThunderClan. They have a right to ask us for shelter.”

  From his vantage point on top of the Highrock, Firestar saw a ripple of shock pass through his cats as they turn e d to look at Mistyfoot, standing like a living shadow of their former leader. Remembering the hostility some of them had shown when Mistyfoot and Stonefur had shared tongues with the dead Bluestar, Firestar realized that Whitestorm was taking quite a risk in reminding them.

  But this time there was no hostility. Even Mousefur and Longtail stayed silent. The story of what had happened beside the Bonehill had swung the sympathy of the Clan over to the RiverClan cats. The warriors relaxed, their shock subsiding, and there were a few murmurs of agreement with what Whitestorm had said.

  Firestar looked down at the RiverClan cats where they sat at the base of the rock with Graystripe and Cinderpelt.

  “Welcome to ThunderClan,” he meowed.

  Mistyfoot bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Firestar. We won’t forget this.”

  “It was the right thing to do,” Firestar meowed. “I just hope you’ll feel completely better soon.”

  “They’ll be fine, Firestar,” meowed Cinderpelt. “All they need is good food and a warm place to sleep.”

  “Yes, there was no bedding in that horrible hole,” Featherpaw fretted, her eyes wide and troubled.

  “You don’t need to think about that anymore,” Mistyfoot promised with a comforting lick. “Just concentrate on getting strong again. As soon as you’re fit, we’ll have to get on with your training.”

  Firestar remembered that Mistyfoot was Featherpaw’s mentor. He was wondering about the difficulties of training an apprentice in unfamiliar territory, when Graystripe broke in on his thoughts.

  “Stonefur was Stormpaw’s mentor, so he’ll need another one now. Is it okay if I mentor him myself?”

  “Good idea,” Firestar meowed, and was rewarded by the glow of pride and pleasure in Graystripe’s eyes as he looked at his son. “We’ll hold the ceremony right away.” He wasn’t sure that it was necessary, given that Stormpaw wasn’t truly a member of ThunderClan, but there was something inside him that longed to make contact with StarClan through the old, familiar rituals.

  Leaping down from the Highrock he beckoned to Stormpaw with his tail. Stormpaw came to stand in front of him, still shaky on his paws but holding his head high.

  “Stormpaw, you have already begun your apprenticeship,” Firestar began. “Stonefur was a noble mentor, and ThunderClan grieves for him. Now you must continue to learn the skills of a warrior under a new mentor.” Turning to Graystripe, he went on: “Graystripe, you will continue Stormpaw’s training. You have borne suffering with a warrior’s spirit, and I expect you to pass on what you have learned to this apprentice.”

  Graystripe nodded solemnly, then padded over to his son and touched noses with him. Firestar caught Brackenfur’s eye; the young tom was obviously pleased that his old mentor had a new apprentice.

  Firestar brought the meeting to an end and descended from the High Rock. Glancing around, he spotted Sandstorm not far away. “Sandstorm, I want to ask you a favor.”

  The ginger she-cat looked up at him. “What is it?”

  “It’s about Mistyfoot. She’ll have trouble mentoring Featherpaw properly here. She doesn’t know where the training places are, or the dangers, or the best places for prey.”

  Firestar hesitated, not sure if what he was about to suggest was a good idea. Not long ago he had chosen Brackenfur to mentor Tawnypaw, and Sandstorm had been deeply offended that he had passed her over. She might well take offense again at his new idea.

  “Go on,” mewed Sandstorm.

  “I…I wanted to ask you if you’d help Mistyfoot with Featherpaw’s training. I can’t think of any cat who would be better.”

  Sandstorm gave him a long, measured look. “You think you can get around me with a bit of flattery, do you?”

  “I don’t—”

  Sandstorm let out a purr of laughter. “Well, maybe you can. Of course I’ll help her, you stupid furball. I’ll have a word with her now.”

  Relief washed over Firestar. “Thank you, Sandstorm.”

  A loud wailing interrupted him. The cats still in the clearing were staring at the entrance from the gorse tunnel. Firestar could not see what had alarmed them, but he caught the tang of blood on the air, and unfamiliar cat scent.

  Thrusting his way through his warriors, Firestar reached the entrance. Limping out of the tunnel was a cat that was almost wounded beyond recognition. Blood dripped from a long gash in his flank. His fur was matted with sand and dust, and one eye was closed.

  Then Firestar made out the mottled dark pelt under the dirt and managed to distinguish the scent of WindClan. The newcomer was Mudclaw, barely able to stand from pain and exhaustion.

  “Mudclaw!” Firestar exclaimed. “What happened?”

  Mudclaw staggered toward him. “You’ve got to help us, Firestar!” he rasped. “TigerClan is attacking our camp!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Firestar leaped up the slope leading into WindClan territory from Fourtrees. Behind him streamed a patrol of his warriors: Graystripe, Brackenfur, Sandstorm, Cloudtail, and Dustpelt with his apprentice, Ashpaw. Firestar had not dared bring more cats to WindClan’s aid; he had left Whitestorm in charge of the ThunderClan camp with every other warrior on watch, in case Tigerstar planned to attack them as well.

  His paws skimmed the springy moorland turf as his legs drove him toward the WindClan camp. A cold wind flattened his fur, carrying the distant scent of ShadowClan. Although Firestar knew he was still too far away, he imagined he could hear the screeches of battle as Tigerstar’s warriors fell on the unsuspecting WindClan.

  “We’ll be too late,” panted Graystripe at his shoulder. “How long did it take Mudclaw to reach us, wounded like that?”

  Firestar did not waste breath in replying. He knew Graystripe was right. This was not the first time that ThunderClan had raced to help WindClan against an alliance of ShadowClan and RiverClan. But that time they had been given more warning and they had managed to drive the attacking warriors away. Now, by the time they reached the WindClan camp, the battle could be over, and yet Firestar knew that they had to try. The warrior code, his own friendships within WindClan, and the urgency of joining together to resist TigerClan, all forced him to lead his warriors to the rescue as quickly as he could.

  As they drew nearer, the scent of ShadowClan was joined by a trace of RiverClan, mingling in a new scent that Firestar realized was the distinctive odor of TigerClan. They were near enough that he expected to hear the yowls of fighting cats, and the silence gripped his heart like cold claws. The battle must be over. Firestar slowed his pace as he and his patrol climbed the last slope toward the camp, his belly filling with dread at the thought of what they might find.

  Firestar slipped quietly up to the ridge where he could look down over the camp. There was a strong scent of WindClan in
the air, along with the tang of blood and fear. A single eerie wail broke the silence as Firestar breasted the rise and saw what Tigerstar had done.

  The hollow where the WindClan cats had their camp was lined with gorse bushes. A few yellow flowers still showed on the spiny branches. Beyond, in the center of the camp, Firestar could see cats huddled together, scarcely moving. As he watched, a tortoiseshell queen raised her head and let out another chilling wail.

  “Morningflower!” Firestar exclaimed.

  Flicking his tail for his warriors to follow him, he raced down through the bushes and into the camp. Bursting out into the open, he was confronted by the WindClan leader, Tallstar. The black-and-white tom’s fur was torn and covered in dust, and his long tail drooped with exhaustion.

  “Firestar!” His voice was rough with pain. “I knew you would come.”

  “Not soon enough. I’m sorry.”

  The WindClan leader shook his head helplessly. “You did your best.” He turned toward the cats who crouched on the floor of the clearing, too shocked or injured to move. “You can see what Tigerstar has done.”

  “Tell us what happened,” urged Graystripe.

  Tallstar twitched his ears. “You can see. Tigerstar and his warriors crept up on us…we had no warning, and in any case there were too many for us to fight.”

  Firestar padded forward, feeling his stomach turn over. None of the WindClan warriors had escaped without wounds. Deadfoot, the WindClan deputy, was lying very still with blood trickling from a gash on his flank; next to him lay Runningbrook, a she-cat whose pale gray fur was hanging off her shoulder in clumps. Their eyes stared at nothing, as if they couldn’t believe what had happened.

  Firestar could scarcely believe it either. This had been a completely unprovoked attack. There had been no warning at the last Gathering. Tigerstar had gained no extra territory for his Clan. The purpose of this attack had been nothing more than to bring fear to the WindClan cats.

  “Hey, Firestar!” A weak voice made Firestar turn to see his old friend Onewhisker. The brown tabby warrior was lying on his side with deep wounds to his throat and shoulder. Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat, was pressing cobwebs to them, but the blood still oozed out sluggishly.