The Darkest Hour

  And the cats of StarClan came stalking down the sky. Frost sparkled at their paws and glittered in their eyes. Their pelts were white flame. They carried the scent of ice and fire and the wild places of the night.

  Fireheart crouched before them. He could scarcely bear to go on looking, and yet he could not bear to look away. He wanted to absorb this moment into every hair on his pelt so it would be his forever.

  After a time that might have lasted a hundred seasons or a single heartbeat, all the cats of StarClan had come down to earth. All around Fireheart the hollow of Fourtrees was lined with their shimmering bodies and blazing eyes. Fireheart crouched in the center, surrounded on all sides. He began to realize that some of the starry cats, those sitting closest to him, were achingly familiar.

  Bluestar! Joy pierced him like a thorn in his heart. And Yellowfang! Then he drew in a familiar, sweet scent, and turned his head to see the tortoiseshell fur and gentle face that he had dreamed of so often.

  Spottedleaf—oh, Spottedleaf! His beloved medicine cat had come back to him. Fireheart wanted to spring to his paws and yowl his joy to the whole forest, but awe kept him silent, still crouching.

  “Welcome, Fireheart.” The sound seemed to belong to all the cats Fireheart had ever known, and yet at the same time it was one clear voice. “Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”

  Fireheart glanced around, but he couldn’t see any cat speaking. “Yes,” he replied, forcing his voice not to shake. “I’m ready.”

  A golden tabby cat rose to his paws and strode toward him, his head and tail high. Fireheart recognized Lionheart, who had become Bluestar’s deputy when Fireheart was still an apprentice and who had died soon after in a battle with ShadowClan. He had been an old cat when Fireheart knew him, but now he looked young and strong again, his coat shining with pale fire.

  “Lionheart!” Fireheart gasped. “Is it really you?”

  Lionheart did not reply. When he was close enough, he stooped and touched his nose to Fireheart’s head. It burned against him like the hottest flame and the coldest ice. Fireheart’s instinct was to shrink away, but he could not move.

  “With this life I give you courage,” Lionheart murmured. “Use it well in defense of your Clan.”

  At once a bolt of energy seared through Fireheart like lightning, setting his fur on end and filling his senses with a deafening roar. His eyes grew dark, and his mind filled with a chaotic swirl of battles and hunts, the feeling of claws raking across fur and teeth meeting in the flesh of prey.

  The pain ebbed, leaving Fireheart weak and trembling. The darkness faded and he found himself in the unearthly clearing again. If that was one life received, he had eight more to go. How will I bear it? he thought in dismay.

  Lionheart was already turning away, moving back to his place in the ranks of StarClan. Another cat rose and came toward Fireheart. At first Fireheart did not recognize him, but then he glimpsed a dark, dappled coat and bushy red tail and realized this must be Redtail. Fireheart had never met the ThunderClan deputy, who was murdered by Tigerstar on the very day Fireheart came to the forest as a kittypet, but he had sought out the truth about his death and used it to prove Tigerstar’s treachery.

  Like Lionheart, Redtail bowed his head and touched his nose to Fireheart’s. “With this life I give you justice,” he mewed. “Use it well as you judge the actions of others.”

  Once more an agonizing spasm rushed through Fireheart, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from yowling. When he recovered, panting as if he had raced all the way back to camp, he saw Redtail watching him. “Thank you,” the former deputy meowed solemnly. “You revealed the truth when no other cat could.”

  Fireheart managed to nod in acknowledgment as Redtail went back to sit beside Lionheart again, and a third cat emerged from the ranks.

  This time Fireheart’s jaws dropped open when he recognized the beautiful tabby, her coat glimmering with a silvery sheen. It was Graystripe’s lost love Silverstream, the RiverClan queen who had died bearing his kits. Her paws scarcely skimmed the ground as she bent down to him.

  “With this life I give you loyalty to what you know to be right,” she meowed. Fireheart wondered if she was referring to the way he had helped Graystripe to see his forbidden love, trusting to the strength of their relationship even though it went against the warrior code. “Use it well to guide your Clan in times of trouble,” Silverstream urged him.

  Fireheart braced himself for another agonizing pang, but this time there was less pain as the new life rushed through him. He was aware of a warm glow of love, and realized dimly that that was what had marked out Silverstream’s life—love for her Clan, for Graystripe, and for the kits she had died to give life to.

  “Silverstream!” he whispered as the silver-gray she-cat turned away again. “Don’t go yet. Haven’t you any message for Graystripe?”

  But Silverstream said nothing more, only glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes filled with love and sorrow that told Fireheart more than all the words she could ever say.

  He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the next life-giving. When he looked up again, a fourth cat was approaching him. This time it was Runningwind, the ThunderClan warrior who had been killed by Tigerstar in a fight near the Thunderpath.

  “With this life I give you tireless energy,” he meowed as he bowed his head to touch Fireheart. “Use it well to carry out the duties of a leader.”

  As the life coursed through Fireheart he felt as if he were racing through the forest, his paws skimming the ground, his fur flattened by the wind. He knew the exhilaration of the hunt and the sheer joy of speed, and he had the feeling that he could outrun any enemy forever.

  His gaze followed Runningwind as he returned to his place. When the fifth cat appeared his heart gave a leap of joy. It was Brindleface, Cloudtail’s foster mother, who had been cruelly slaughtered by Tigerstar to give the dog pack a taste for cat blood.

  “With this life I give you protection,” she told him. “Use it well to care for your Clan as a mother cares for her kits.”

  Fireheart expected this life to be gentle and loving like Silverstream’s, and he wasn’t ready for the bolt of ferocity that transfixed him. He felt as though all the fury of their ancient ancestors TigerClan and LionClan were pulsing through him, challenging any cat to harm the weaker, faceless shadows that crouched by his paws. Shocked and trembling, Fireheart recognized a mother’s desire to protect her kits, and realized how much Brindleface had loved them all—even Cloudtail, who was not her own.

  I must tell him, Fireheart thought as the fury ebbed, before he remembered that he was bound to say nothing to any cat about what he had experienced in the ritual.

  Brindleface drew back to sit with the other cats of StarClan again, and another familiar figure took her place. Guilt washed over Fireheart as he recognized Swiftpaw.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he looked into the apprentice’s eyes. “It was my fault you died.”

  Angry at Bluestar’s refusal to make him a warrior, and desperate to prove himself, Swiftpaw had gone out to track down whatever was preying on the cats in the forest. The dog pack had killed him, and Fireheart knew he would blame himself for ever for not trying harder to make Bluestar change her mind.

  But Swiftpaw showed no anger now. His eyes shone with a wisdom far beyond his age as he touched his nose to Fireheart’s. “With this life I give you mentoring. Use it well to train the young cats of your Clan.”

  The life Swiftpaw gave him was a pang of anguish so great Fireheart thought it would stop his heart. It ended in a jolt of pure terror, and a flash of light red as blood. Fireheart knew he was experiencing what Swiftpaw had felt in the last moments of his life.

  As it ebbed away, leaving Fireheart gasping, he began to feel like a hollow in the ground as rain falls into it and spills over. He thought that his strength would hardly sustain him to receive lives from the three cats that were still to come.

  The first was Yellowfan
g. The old medicine cat had the same air of obstinate independence and courage that had impressed and frustrated Fireheart in equal measure when she was alive. He remembered the last time he had seen her, dying in her den after the fire. Then she had been in despair, wondering if StarClan would receive her even though she had killed her own son, Brokentail, to put an end to his bloodthirsty plotting. Now the gleam of humor was back in her yellow eyes as she stooped to touch Fireheart.

  “With this life I give you compassion,” she announced. “Use it well for the elders of your Clan, and the sick, and all those weaker than yourself.”

  This time, even knowing the pain he would have to bear, Fireheart closed his eyes and drank in the life hungrily, wanting all of Yellowfang’s spirit, all her courage and her loyalty to the Clan that was not hers by birth. He received it like a tide of light surging through him: her humor, her sharp tongue, her warm heartedness, and her sense of honor. He felt closer to her than ever before.

  “Oh, Yellowfang…” Fireheart whispered, his eyes blinking open again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  The medicine cat was already moving away. The cat who took her place was younger, stepping lightly, the sparkle of stars in her fur and in her eyes: Spottedleaf, the beautiful tortoise shell who had been Fireheart’s first love. She had come to him in dreams, but he had never seen her as plainly as this since she had been alive. He breathed in her sweet scent as she bent over him. This cat, more than any, was the one with whom he wanted to speak, because the time they had had together had been too short to let them share their true feelings.

  “Spottedleaf…”

  “With this life I give you love,” she murmured in her soft voice. “Use it well, for all the cats in your care—and especially for Sandstorm.”

  There was no pain in the life that poured into Fireheart now. It held the warmth of the high sun in greenleaf, burning to the tips of his paws. It was pure love; at the same time he experienced the sense of security he had known as a tiny kit, nuzzling his mother. He gazed up at Spottedleaf, wrapped in a contentment he had never known before.

  He thought he caught a proud gleam in her eyes as she turned away, and his disappointment that she had not stayed to talk to him was mixed with relief that she approved of his new choice. Now he had no reason to fear that he was being unfaithful to Spottedleaf in his love for Sandstorm.

  At last Bluestar approached Fireheart. She was not the old, defeated cat Fireheart had known recently, her mind giving way under the stress of her Clan’s troubles. This was Bluestar at the height of her strength and power, prowling toward him across the clearing like a lion. Fireheart was almost dazzled by the glory of starlight around her, but he forced himself to meet her blue gaze squarely.

  “Welcome, Fireheart, my apprentice, my warrior, and my deputy,” she greeted him. “I always knew you would make a great leader one day.”

  As Fireheart bowed his head, Bluestar touched him with her nose and went on; “With this life I give you nobility and certainty and faith. Use it well as you lead your Clan in the ways of StarClan and the warrior code.”

  The warmth of Spottedleaf’s life had lulled Fireheart, and he was unprepared for the agony that shook him as he received Bluestar’s. He shared the fierceness of her ambition, the anguish she had suffered when she gave up her kits, the ferocity of battle after battle in the service of her Clan. He felt her terror as her mind fragmented and she lost her trust in StarClan. The rush of power grew stronger and stronger, until Fireheart thought his pelt would never contain it. Just as he thought he must yowl his pain or die, it began to ebb, ending in a sense of calm acceptance and joy.

  A long, soft sigh passed through the clearing. All the StarClan warriors had risen to their paws. Bluestar stayed in the center of the clearing and signaled with her tail that Fireheart should rise too. He obeyed her shakily, feeling as if the fullness of life inside him would spill over when he moved. His body felt as battered as if he had fought the hardest battle of his life, and yet his spirit soared with the strength of the lives he had been granted.

  “I hail you by your new name, Firestar,” Bluestar announced. “Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants to you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

  “Firestar! Firestar!” Just as the forest Clans would acclaim a new warrior by name, so the cats of StarClan acclaimed Firestar, in rich voices that tingled in the air. “Firestar! Firestar!”

  Suddenly the chanting broke off with a startled hiss. Firestar tensed, aware that something was wrong. Bluestar’s glowing eyes were fixed on something behind him. He spun around and let out a choking cry.

  A massive hill of bones had appeared at the other side of the clearing, many tail-lengths high. It shone with an unnatural light, so that Firestar could see each separate bone edged as if with fire—the bones of cats and the bones of prey, all jumbled together. A hot wind swept over him, bearing the reek of carrion, even though the bones gleamed white and clean.

  Firestar gazed wildly around him, seeking help or answers from the other cats. But the clearing was dark. The cats of StarClan had vanished, leaving him alone with the terrible hill of bones. As Firestar felt panic welling up inside him, he sensed the familiar presence of Bluestar by his side, warm fur pressed against his flank. He could not see her in the darkness, but her voice whispered in his ear.

  “Something terrible is coming, Firestar. Four will become two. Lion and tiger will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest.”

  Her scent and the warmth of her fur faded away as she finished speaking.

  “Wait!” Firestar yowled. “Don’t leave me! Tell me what you mean!”

  But there was no reply, no explanation of the dreadful prophecy. Instead, the red light that gleamed from the hill of bones glowed brighter. Firestar stared at it in horror. Blood had begun to ooze out between the bones. The trickles merged into a river that flowed steadily toward him, until the stench of blood clung to his fur. He tried to flee, and found his paws were fixed in place. A heartbeat later, the sticky red tide was washing around him, gurgling and reeking of death.

  “No!” Firestar yowled, but there was no response from the forest, just the steady whisper of blood lapping hungrily at his fur.

  CHAPTER 5

  Firestar jolted awake in terror. He was lying in the cavern beneath Highstones with his nose pressed against the Moonstone. The shaft of moonlight had vanished, and only the faintest glimmer of starshine lit the cave. But there was no relief in waking up, for the stench of blood was still all around him and his fur felt hot and sticky.

  Heart thudding wildly, Firestar scrambled to his paws. Across the cave he could just make out Cinderpelt. She had risen too, and was signaling urgently to him with her tail. Firestar’s first impulse was to pour out to her all that he had seen, but he remembered her instructions to keep silent until they had left Mother mouth. Paws skidding on the cave floor in his haste, he pushed past the medicine cat and bolted into the tunnel.

  As he stumbled upward toward the open air, following his own scent trail along the dark passage, the way seemed twice as long as before. Firestar’s fur scraped against the tunnel walls and he was filled with horror at the thought of being buried alive. The air felt too thick to breathe, and as his panic grew in the unbroken blackness of the tunnel he began to imagine that it would never end, that he would be trapped for ever in blood and darkness.

  Then he saw the pale outline of the tunnel entrance, and burst out into the still night air, where the moon was sinking behind thin clouds. Firestar dug his claws into the loose earth of the hillside while shudders passed through his body from nose to tail.

  A few moments later, Cinderpelt emerged behind him and pressed herself against his side until he managed to control his dreadful shivering and his breathing steadied.

  “What happened?” s
he asked quietly.

  “Don’t you know?”

  Cinderpelt shook her head. “I know that the ritual was interrupted—the scent of blood told me that. But I don’t know why.” She looked deep into his eyes; her own were burning with concern. “Tell me…did you receive your nine lives and your name?”

  Firestar nodded, and the medicine cat relaxed slightly. “Then the rest can wait. Let’s go.”

  For a moment Firestar felt too exhausted to move. But he did not want to stay anywhere near Mothermouth and the terrible things that he had seen in the cave. Shakily, pawstep by pawstep, he began to descend the hill. Cinderpelt padded beside him, sometimes nudging him toward an easier route, and Firestar was grateful for her unquestioning presence.

  As they drew farther away from the tunnel, the stench of blood faded from his mouth and nostrils. Still, Firestar felt that even if he washed for a moon he would never get rid of the last traces from his fur. He began to feel stronger, but he was still very tired, and as soon as the rocky hillside gave way to grass he flopped down in the shelter of a hawthorn bush.

  “I’ve got to rest,” he meowed.

  Cinderpelt tucked herself into the grass beside him and for a few moments the two cats shared tongues in silence. Firestar wanted to tell the medicine cat what he had seen, but something kept him silent. Partly he wanted to protect her from the dreadful fear he had felt—even if she could explain what Bluestar’s prophecy meant, would it help to have another cat look forward to the future with the dread that he now felt? And partly he hoped that if he never spoke of the dreadful vision, it might not come true. Or was there a curse on his leadership that nothing could avert? Bluestar had told him before she died that he was the fire who would save the Clan. How could that be true, if the fire was quenched by the tidal wave of blood he had just seen? Firestar had experienced prophetic dreams before, and he had learned to take them seriously. He could not ignore this, especially when it came at such a significant moment, while he was receiving his nine lives and his new name.