The Darkest Hour

  Behind Scourge, the cats of BloodClan moved forward as if they were about to attack, and Firestar shot a glance at his own warriors to make sure they were ready. They stood in line with the warriors of WindClan, and Firestar braced himself to leap forward with them, but when he looked back at the enemy, Scourge raised one blood-soaked paw.

  The cats behind him stopped.

  “You see what happens to cats who defy BloodClan,” the black cat warned calmly. “Your friend here”—he gave a contemptuous flick with his tail toward Tigerstar’s motionless body—“thought he could control us. He was wrong.”

  “We don’t want to control you,” Firestar rasped. “All we want is to lead our lives in peace. We’re sorry that Tigerstar brought you here with lies. Please feel free to hunt before you go home.”

  “Go home?” Scourge widened his eyes in scornful disbelief. “We’re not going anywhere, forest fool. In the town where we come from, there are many, many cats, and live prey is scarce. Here in the forest we won’t need to depend on Twoleg rubbish for our food.”

  His gaze slid past Firestar to where ThunderClan and WindClan stood ready for battle. “We are taking over this territory now,” he went on. “I shall rule the forest as well as the town. But I understand that you may need some time to reflect on this. You have three days to leave—or meet my Clan in battle. I shall wait for your decision at dawn on the fourth day.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Firestar stared, speechless with shock, as Scourge turned away and disappeared through the lines of his own warriors. Silently the cats of BloodClan fell in behind him and vanished into the bushes with scarcely a rustle. Firestar tracked their departure through the movement of branches up the side of the hollow, and then they were gone.

  Firestar looked down at the body of Tigerstar. The huge tabby’s legs were splayed and his teeth bared in a last snarl of defiance at death. The amber eyes that had smoldered with savage ambition were blank and sightless.

  Faced with the death of his enemy, Firestar knew he should feel triumphant. He had known for a long time now that the only hope for peace in the forest was the death of Tigerstar. But Firestar had always expected that he would be the cat that struck his enemy down, risking his own life in combat with the massive warrior. Instead, now that Tigerstar lay at his paws, staining them with his blood, he found himself struggling with the strangest feeling of all—grief. Tigerstar had received from StarClan all the strength, skill, and intelligence to make himself truly great, a legend among cats. But he had misused his gifts, murdered and lied and plotted revenge, until his ambition brought him to this terrible end. And nothing had been solved. The fate of every Clan still hung in the balance, and the tide of blood still flowed.

  We need your strength, Tigerstar, Firestar whispered. Just as we need every cat who can fight, to drive BloodClan out of the forest.

  He became aware that another cat was standing beside him, and he turned his head to see Graystripe. The rest of the ThunderClan cats were still drawn up in their battle lines at the far side of the clearing, with Tallstar and the WindClan warriors beside them.

  “Firestar?” Graystripe’s yellow eyes were huge with fear. “Are you okay?”

  Firestar shook himself. “I will be. Don’t worry, Graystripe. Come on—I need to talk to Tallstar.”

  As they turned away, Graystripe glanced down at the dead ShadowClan leader and a shudder passed through him. “I never want to see anything like that again,” he meowed hoarsely.

  “If we don’t get rid of Scourge, you probably will,” Firestar replied.

  He paced slowly back toward the WindClan leader, using the time it took to cross the clearing to think. When he stood in front of Tallstar, he saw his own shock reflected in the eyes of the older cat.

  “I can’t believe what I’ve just seen,” the WindClan leader. “Nine lives gone—just like that.”

  Firestar nodded. “No cat would blame you if you took your Clan and left the forest to find another place to live.” He did not doubt Tallstar’s courage, but felt unable to assume that he would stay to fight such a terrible enemy.

  Tallstar stiffened and his neck fur bristled. “WindClan was driven from the forest once,” he hissed. “Never again. Our territory is ours, and we’ll fight for it. Is ThunderClan with us?”

  Even before Firestar replied he heard a murmuring from his own cats, defiance and determination mingled together. “We’ll fight,” he promised. “And we’ll be proud to stand side by side with WindClan.”

  The two leaders looked into each other’s eyes for a few heartbeats. Firestar could see that Tallstar shared the fear neither of them had spoken, that their resolve to fight the invading cats could mean the destruction of both their Clans.

  “We’ll go now to prepare ourselves,” Tallstar meowed at last. “And we’ll meet you here again in three days, at dawn.”

  “At dawn,” Firestar echoed. “And may StarClan be with us all.”

  He watched the WindClan cats retreat up the slope toward their territory before he turned to his own warriors. They looked subdued, eyes wide with apprehension, yet Firestar knew that none of them would flinch from the coming battle. They had followed him to Fourtrees expecting to fight, and even though their enemies were more terrible than any cat could have imagined, they would still defy them to keep the forest that they loved.

  “I’m proud of you all,” Firestar mewed quietly. “If any cats can drive out BloodClan, you can.”

  Sandstorm padded over to him and pressed her muzzle against his shoulder. “With you to lead us, we will do anything,” she promised.

  For a moment Firestar felt too overwhelmed to speak. Far from lifting his spirits, his warriors’ expectations weighed on him heavily. “Let’s get back to camp,” he managed to meow at last. “We’ve a lot to do. Graystripe, Cloudtail, scout ahead. I wouldn’t put it past Scourge to lay an ambush for us.”

  The two warriors bounded away in the direction of the ThunderClan camp. A few moments later Firestar led the rest of his cats after them, putting Dustpelt at the rear to keep watch. As they headed swiftly through the forest Firestar thought that he could feel Scourge’s cold, malignant eyes following their pawsteps. Once before, when the dog pack was loose, Firestar had felt like prey in the forest, and now his enemy had a face all the more terrible for being one of his own kind.

  But if the BloodClan leader was watching them he gave no sign of it, and the ThunderClan warriors reached the ravine unchallenged.

  Firestar noticed that Bramblepaw had begun to lag behind, his tail trailing on the ground. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  Bramblepaw raised his eyes to his mentor’s, and Firestar was shocked by the depths of sick horror in his gaze.

  “I thought I hated my father,” he mewed quietly. “I didn’t want to join his Clan. But I didn’t want him to die like that.”

  “I know.” Firestar pressed his muzzle against the young cat’s side. “But it’s over now, and you’re free of him.”

  Bramblepaw turned his head away. “I don’t think I’ll ever be free of him,” he murmured. “Even now that he’s dead, no cat will forget that I’m his son. And what about Tawnypaw?” His voice choked. “How could she choose to follow him?”

  “I don’t know.” Firestar understood how much pain Tawnypaw’s betrayal must have caused her brother. “But if we come through this, I promise that we’ll find a way of talking to her.”

  “Does that mean you will let her come back to ThunderClan?”

  “I can’t be sure of anything,” Firestar admitted. “We don’t even know if she wants to come back. But I’ll give her a fair hearing, and do the best I can for her.”

  “Thank you, Firestar.” Bramblepaw’s voice was tired and defeated. “I suppose that’s more than she deserves.” He dipped his head to his mentor and padded on toward the gorse tunnel.

  Firestar gazed down from the Highrock as the cats of ThunderClan emerged from their dens and gathered below him. He could see from t
heir horror-struck expressions that the news of BloodClan’s threat and Tigerstar’s terrible death had already spread throughout the camp. He knew that it was his duty to give them hope and courage, but he did not know if he could, when he had so little for himself.

  The sun was going down, and the rock cast a long shadow across the sandy floor of the clearing. The scarlet rays of the dying sun made it too easy for Firestar to imagine that the camp was already washed in blood. He wondered if it wasn’t a sign from StarClan, that all his friends, all his warriors, would be destroyed. After all, the warrior ancestors had shown no sign of anger when Scourge had ripped Tigerstar’s nine lives out of him and let all his life’s blood run into the sacred ground at Fourtrees.

  No, Firestar told himself. To think like that was to despair and do nothing. He had to go on believing that BloodClan could be defeated.

  Clearing his throat, he began to speak. “Cats of ThunderClan, you have heard of the threat that faces us. BloodClan has come from Twolegplace and laid claim to the forest. They want us to run away and let them take over without a fight. But three days from now, we will stand together with WindClan and make BloodClan fight for every mouselength of the forest.”

  In the clearing below, Cloudtail leaped to his paws and yowled agreement. Several cats echoed him, but Firestar could see that some glanced doubtfully at one another, as if they were not sure they had a chance of surviving against BloodClan and their fearsome leader.

  “What about RiverClan and ShadowClan?” asked Whitestorm. “Will they fight? And if they do, which side will they be on?”

  “That’s a good question,” Firestar replied. “And I don’t know the answer. The TigerClan warriors ran away when Tigerstar died.”

  “Then we need to know where they went,” Whitestorm meowed.

  “I could slip over into RiverClan territory to see,” suggested Mistyfoot, getting up from where she sat at the base of the rock. “I know all the best places to hide.”

  “No,” Firestar ordered. “You’re in more danger over there than any cat. We don’t know if TigerClan are still persecuting half-Clan cats, and I don’t want to lose you. ThunderClan needs you.”

  For a moment Mistyfoot looked as if she would have liked to argue, but she dipped her head and sat down again as Whitestorm meowed, “We can find out most of what we need from border patrols.”

  Firestar nodded. “That’s your job, Whitestorm. I want extra patrols along the ShadowClan and RiverClan borders. Their main task is to find out what the other Clans are doing, but they can keep their eyes open for BloodClan as well. If Scourge decides to attack before the three days are up, I don’t want us to be caught napping.”

  Whitestorm flicked his tail in agreement. “Consider it done.”

  Firestar could see that his deputy’s calm efficiency had encouraged the rest of the Clan, and he went on quickly before their fears could return. “Next, every cat in the Clan must be prepared to fight.”

  “Even the kits?” That was Sorrelkit, springing eagerly to her paws. “Can we be in the battle? Can we be apprentices?”

  In spite of the danger they were in, Firestar suppressed a purr of amusement. “No, you’re too young to be apprentices,” he told Sorrelkit gently. “And I can’t take you into battle. But if BloodClan win, they’ll come here, and you’ll need to be able to defend yourselves. Sandstorm, will you be responsible for training the kits?”

  “I will, Firestar.” Sandstorm’s green eyes flashed with approval at Sorrelkit and her littermates, Sootkit and Rainkit, who had scrambled up to stand beside their sister. “They’ll be able to give BloodClan a nasty surprise by the time I’ve finished with them.”

  “What about Brightheart?” Cloudtail called. “Her fighting moves are coming along well.”

  “I want to fight in the battle,” Brightheart mewed determinedly. “Can I, Firestar?”

  Firestar hesitated. Brightheart was stronger now, and she had been training hard with Cloudtail. “I’ll think about it,” he promised. “Are you ready for an assessment?”

  Brightheart nodded. “Anytime, Firestar.”

  “We’ll fight with you, too,” Mistyfoot put in from where she sat near the base of the rock. Featherpaw and Stormpaw, sitting beside her, straightened up and looked determined. “We’re all strong enough, thanks to you.”

  “Good. As for the rest of you”—Firestar’s gaze swept the clearing—“warriors, apprentices, and elders, you have three days to prep are. Graystripe, will you supervise a training program?”

  His friend’s eyes lit up and his ears pricked. “No problem, Firestar.”

  “Get a couple of the others to help you…and rotate the training sessions so Whitestorm has enough cats for his patrols, and for hunting.” Glancing around, he spotted the medicine cat sitting near the fern tunnel that led to her den. “Cinderpelt, are you ready to look after the wounded?”

  Privately, Firestar knew there was no need to ask; he had never known Cinderpelt not to be ready, but he knew it would reassure the other cats to hear her say so out loud.

  The look Cinderpelt gave him showed that she understood. “Everything’s prepared,” she replied. “But there’ll be a lot to do once the fighting starts. If you could let me have an apprentice to help, that would be great.”

  “Of course.” As Firestar wondered which apprentice to choose, his gaze rested on Fernpaw, and he remembered her gentleness and sensitivity to other cats’ injuries. “You can have Fernpaw,” he announced, and saw Dustpelt flash him a relieved look. “Fernpaw, if that’s okay with you?”

  The gray she-cat dipped her head in assent. For a moment Firestar wondered if he had forgotten anything, but he couldn’t think what else they could do to prep are for what lay ahead.

  Gazing down at his Clan, their shapes beginning to melt into the twilight, he took a deep breath. “Now eat well, and get a good sleep tonight,” he ordered. “Tomorrow we’ll begin—and in three days we’ll be ready to show Scourge and his Clan that our forest will never be theirs for the taking.”

  CHAPTER 24

  When Firestar emerged from his den the following morning, the camp was already full of activity. Mousefur was leaving at the head of a patrol. Sandstorm was rounding up Willowpelt’s three kits, who bounced around her in wild excitement as she herded them toward the gorse tunnel on their way to the training hollow. Mistyfoot and the two RiverClan apprentices followed them. Brackenfur passed them at the entrance to the camp, a piece of fresh-kill in his jaws.

  Firestar spotted Whitestorm with Bramblepaw and Ashpaw beside the thorn wall that surrounded the camp, and padded across to join them. The white warrior came to meet him.

  “I’m getting these two to inspect the defenses and patch any gaps,” he meowed. “If BloodClan get this far…” He stopped, his blue eyes worried.

  “Good idea.” Firestar suppressed a shiver at the thought of BloodClan breaking into the camp. He turned sharply at the sight of movement in the gorse tunnel, and flashed a glance of astonishment at Whitestorm as Ravenpaw appeared, followed by Barley. The black-and-white loner had never been to the ThunderClan camp before.

  Leaving his deputy to finish instructing the apprentices, Firestar padded toward them. Ravenpaw hurried forward confidently, but Barley lagged behind, glancing warily around, as if he wasn’t sure of a welcome.

  “We have to talk to you,” Ravenpaw blurted out. “Last night we met Onewhisker on the border of his territory and he told us about Scourge and BloodClan.” The raven-colored fur on his shoulders bristled. “We want to help, but more important, Barley has some information for you.”

  Firestar dipped his head in greeting. “It’s good to see you both,” he meowed. “And we’re grateful for any help we can get. Perhaps you’d better come to my den.”

  Barley relaxed at Firestar’s friendly greeting, and the two loners followed Firestar to the hollow beneath the Highrock. Early-morning sunshine slanted through the entrance and into the peaceful den. Firestar could almost forget the t
hreat from Scourge and his bloodthirsty followers. But the serious expressions of his visitors reminded him all too clearly of the shadow over the future of the forest.

  “What is it?” he prompted, once the two loners were settled.

  Ravenpaw was gazing around him with an almost awestruck look—Firestar guessed he was remembering Bluestar, and maybe wondering at how the apprentice who had trained with him had come to take the former leader’s place. Barley, however, looked uneasy, crouching with his paws tucked under him as he began to speak.

  “I was born in Twolegplace,” he began quietly. “I know too much about Scourge and his warriors. I…I suppose you could say I was once a member of BloodClan.”

  Firestar’s interest quickened. “Go on.”

  “The first thing I remember is playing with my littermates on a patch of waste ground,” Barley explained. “Our mother taught us to hunt and find food among Twoleg rubbish. Later on she showed us how to defend ourselves.”

  “Your mother mentored you?” Firestar asked, surprised. “All of you?”

  Barley nodded. “BloodClan doesn’t have a proper system of mentors and apprentices. It’s not a Clan at all in the way you forest cats understand it. Most cats listen to Scourge because he’s the strongest and the most vicious, and Bone is a kind of deputy, insofar as he carries out Scourge’s dirty work.”

  “Bone?” Fireheart asked. “Is that a big black-and-white cat? He was there at Fourtrees.”

  “That sounds like him, yes.” The loner’s voice was filled with disgust. “He’s almost as bad as Scourge. Any cats who don’t do as they’re told are chased off, if they’re lucky, or more likely killed.”

  Firestar stared at him. “But what about caring for kits and elders?”

  Barley shrugged. “A she-cat’s mate will probably hunt for her while she’s nursing her kits,” he mewed. “Even Scourge realizes that if there are no kits, sooner or later there’s no Clan. But elders, or cats who are sick or injured—well, they’re left to fend for themselves. It’s kill or be killed, hunt or starve. There’s no room for weakness.”