Graystripe gave himself a shake and sent droplets sparkling into the air. “I saw you from the other side of the river,” he mewed. “I never thought I’d find you catching prey for Sandstorm. Special to you, is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fireheart protested. His fur suddenly felt hot, and prickled as if ants were crawling through it. “Sandstorm is just a friend.”
Graystripe let out a purr of amusement. “Oh, sure, if you say so.” He strolled up the slope and lowered his head to butt Fireheart affectionately on the shoulder. “You’re lucky, Fireheart. She’s a very impressive cat.”
Fireheart opened his mouth and then closed it again. Graystripe wouldn’t be convinced not matter what he said—and besides, maybe he was right. Maybe Sandstorm was becoming more than a friend. “Never mind that,” he meowed, changing the subject. “Tell me how you’re getting on. What’s the news in RiverClan?”
The laughter died from Graystripe’s yellow eyes. “Not much. Every cat is talking about Tigerstar.” When Graystripe had been a ThunderClan warrior, he and Fireheart had been the only cats to know the truth about Tigerstar’s murderous ambition, and that he had killed the former ThunderClan deputy, Redtail.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” Fireheart admitted. “Tigerstar might be different, now he’s got what he wants. No cat can deny that he could make a good leader—he’s strong, he can fight and hunt, and he knows the warrior code by heart.”
“But no cat can trust him,” Graystripe growled. “What’s the point of knowing the warrior code if all you do is ignore what it says?”
“It’s not up to us to trust him now,” Fireheart pointed out. “He’s got a new Clan, and Runningnose reported an omen that seemed to say StarClan would be sending them a great new leader. StarClan must know that ShadowClan needs a strong warrior to build them up again after the sickness.”
Graystripe didn’t look convinced. “StarClan sent him?” He snorted. “I’ll believe that when hedgehogs fly.”
Fireheart couldn’t help agreeing with Graystripe that it would be hard to trust Tigerstar. Making his new Clan healthy again might occupy him for a season or two, but after that…The thought of the fierce warrior at the head of a strong Clan sent a shudder through Fireheart from ears to tail-tip. He couldn’t believe that Tigerstar would settle down to a peaceful life in the forest, respecting the rights of the other three Clans. Sooner or later he would want to extend his territory, and his first target would be ThunderClan.
“If I were you,” meowed Graystripe, echoing his thoughts, “I’d keep a very careful watch on my borders.”
“Yes, I—” Fireheart began. He broke off as he saw Sandstorm coming toward them, a young rabbit dangling from her jaws. She padded across the pebbles, and dropped her prey at Fireheart’s feet. Looking more relaxed, as if she had gotten over her brief annoyance, she nodded to the RiverClan warrior.
“Hi, Graystripe,” she mewed. “How are the kits?”
“They’re fine, thanks,” Graystripe replied. His eyes glowed with pride. “They’ll be apprenticed soon.”
“Will you mentor one of them?” Fireheart asked.
To his surprise, Graystripe looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” he meowed. “If it were Crookedstar’s decision, maybe…but he doesn’t do much these days, except sleep. Leopardfur organizes most things now, and she’ll never forgive me for the way Whiteclaw died. I think she’ll probably give the kits to some other warriors to mentor.”
He bowed his head. Fireheart realized he still felt guilty about the death of the RiverClan warrior who had fallen into the gorge when his patrol attacked a small group of ThunderClan warriors.
“That’s tough,” meowed Fireheart, pressing himself comfortingly against Graystripe’s side.
“But you can see her point,” Sandstorm pointed out mildly. “Leopardfur will want to make sure that the kits are brought up to be completely loyal to RiverClan.”
Graystripe swung his head around to face her, his fur bristling. “That’s just what I would do! I don’t want my kits to grow up feeling torn between two Clans.” His eyes clouded. “I know what that’s like.”
Pain for his friend flooded over Fireheart. After the fire, Graystripe had shown how unhappy he was in his new Clan, and clearly things were no better now. Fireheart wanted to say, “Come home,” but he knew he had no right to offer Graystripe a place in the Clan when Bluestar had already refused.
“Speak to Crookedstar,” he suggested. “Ask him yourself about the kits.”
“And try to stay on the good side of Leopardfur,” added Sandstorm. “Don’t let her catch you crossing the ThunderClan border.”
Graystripe flinched. “Maybe you’re right. I’d better be getting back. Good-bye, Sandstorm, Fireheart.”
“Try to come to the next Gathering,” Fireheart urged.
Graystripe flicked his tail in acknowledgment and padded off down the slope. Halfway to the river he turned, meowed, “Wait there a moment!” and raced down to the edge of the water. For several heartbeats he sat motionless on a flat stone, gazing down into the shallows.
“Now what’s he up to?” Sandstorm muttered.
Before Fireheart could reply, Graystripe’s paw darted out. A silver fish shot out of the stream and fell to the bank, where it lay flopping and wriggling. Graystripe finished it off with a single blow of his paw and dragged it back up the slope to where Fireheart and Sandstorm stood watching.
“Here,” he meowed as he dropped it. “I know prey must be scarce since the fire. That should help a bit.”
“Thanks,” meowed Fireheart, and added admiringly, “That was a neat trick back there.”
Graystripe let out a purr of satisfaction. “Mistyfoot showed me how.”
“It’s very welcome,” Sandstorm told him. “But if Leopardfur finds out you’ve been feeding another Clan, she won’t be pleased.”
“Leopardfur can go chase her own tail,” Graystripe growled. “If she says anything, I’ll remind her how Fireheart and I helped feed RiverClan during the floods last newleaf.”
He turned away and bounded back to the river. Fireheart’s heart ached as he watched his friend launch himself into the water and begin swimming strongly for the opposite bank. He would have given anything to have Graystripe back in ThunderClan, but he had to admit it seemed unlikely that the gray warrior could ever be accepted there again.
Fireheart struggled to carry the slippery fish as the hunting patrol returned to camp, his mouth watering as the unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. When he entered the camp he saw that the pile of fresh-kill already looked bigger. Cloudpaw and Brightpaw had returned, and were about to go out again with Mousefur and Thornpaw.
“We’ve fed the elders, Fireheart!” Cloudpaw called over his shoulder as he scampered up the ravine.
“And Cinderpelt?” Fireheart called back.
“Not yet!”
Fireheart watched his young kin dash out of sight and then turned back to the pile of fresh-kill. Perhaps Graystripe’s fish would tempt Cinderpelt, he thought. He suspected that the young medicine cat wasn’t eating enough, out of grief for Yellowfang, and because she was so busy caring for the smoke-sick cats and Bluestar.
“Are you hungry, Fireheart?” asked Sandstorm, dropping the last of her catch onto the pile. In the end she had waited to eat until they brought the prey back to camp, and she was eyeing the fresh-kill avidly. “We could eat together, if you like.”
“Okay.” The magpie Fireheart had eaten that morning seemed a long time ago now. “I’ll just take this to Cinderpelt.”
“Don’t be long,” meowed Sandstorm.
Fireheart gripped the fish in his jaws and walked toward Cinderpelt’s den. Before the fire, a lush tunnel of ferns had separated it from the rest of the camp. Now just a few blackened stalks showed above the ground, and Fireheart could clearly see the cleft in the rock that was the entrance to the den.
He stopped outside, dropped the fresh-kill, and called, “Cinderpel
t!”
After a moment the young medicine cat poked her head out of the opening. “What? Oh, it’s you, Fireheart.”
She padded out of the den to join him. Her fur was ruffled, and her eyes didn’t have their usual lively sparkle. Instead she seemed distracted and troubled. Fireheart guessed that her mind was on Yellowfang.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she mewed. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
“Have something to eat first,” Fireheart urged her. “Look, Graystripe caught a fish for us.”
“Thanks, Fireheart,” Cinderpelt meowed, “but this is urgent. StarClan sent a dream to me last night.”
Something about the way she spoke made Fireheart uneasy. He was still not used to the way that his former apprentice was growing into a true medicine cat, living without a mate or kits of her own, meeting secretly with other medicine cats and united with them through their bond with the warrior spirits of StarClan.
“What was the dream about?” he asked. He had experienced dreams like this more than once, warning him of things that were going to happen. That helped him to imagine, better than most Clan cats, the mixture of awe and bewilderment that Cinderpelt must be feeling now.
“I’m not sure.” Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “I thought I was standing in the forest, and I could hear something large crashing through the trees, but I couldn’t see what it was. And I heard voices calling—harsh voices, in a language that wasn’t cat. But I could understand what they said….”
Her voice trailed off. She stood gazing into the distance, her eyes clouded, while her front paws kneaded the ground in front of her.
“What did they say?” Fireheart prompted.
Cinderpelt shivered. “It was really strange. They were calling, ‘Pack, pack,’ and ‘Kill, kill.’”
Fireheart couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He had hoped that a message from StarClan might have given them some hint about how to deal with all his problems—Tigerstar’s reappearance, Bluestar’s illness, and the aftermath of the fire. “Do you know what it means?” he asked.
Cinderpelt shook her head, a lingering look of horror in her eyes, as though she faced a huge threat Fireheart could not see. “Not yet. Maybe StarClan will show me more when I’ve been to Highstones. But it’s something bad, Fireheart, I’m sure of it.”
“As if we haven’t enough to worry about,” Fireheart muttered. To Cinderpelt, he mewed, “I don’t know what I can do, unless we find out more. I need facts. Are you sure that’s all the dream told you?”
Her blue eyes still wide with distress, Cinderpelt nodded. Fireheart gave her ear a comforting lick. “Don’t worry, Cinderpelt. If it’s a warning about ShadowClan, we’re already watching out for them. Just tell me the moment you get any more details.”
He jumped as an irritated yowling sounded from behind him. “Fireheart, are you going to be all day?”
Glancing around, he saw that Sandstorm was waiting for him at the entrance to the burned fern tunnel. “I’ve got to go,” he said to Cinderpelt.
“But—”
“I’ll think about it, okay?” Fireheart interrupted her, his rumbling belly urging him to go and join Sandstorm. “Let me know if you have any other dreams.”
Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in annoyance. “This is a message from StarClan, Fireheart, not just a root digging into my fur or a tough bit of fresh-kill caught in my throat. It could affect the whole Clan. We need to work out what it means.”
“Well, you’ll be better at that than I am,” Fireheart told her, backing away from Cinderpelt’s den and tossing the last words over his shoulder.
Bounding across the clearing toward Sandstorm, he wondered briefly what the dream could have meant. It didn’t sound like an attack from another Clan, and he couldn’t think of anything else that might be a threat. As he tucked into the vole that Sandstorm had saved for him, he managed to put Cinderpelt’s dream out of his mind.
CHAPTER 4
Fireheart’s flanks heaved as he fought for breath, and his cheek stung where claws had raked across it. As he staggered to his feet, Brightpaw took a couple of steps back.
“I haven’t hurt you, have I?” the ginger-and-white apprentice asked anxiously.
“No, I’m fine.” Fireheart gasped. “Did Whitestorm show you that move? I never saw it coming. Well done.”
Trying not to limp, he padded across the training hollow to where Swiftpaw, Thornpaw, and Cloudpaw were watching. He had been assessing the apprentices’ fighting skills, and they had all held their own against him. They had the makings of formidable warriors.
“I’m glad you’re all on my side. I wouldn’t want to meet you in battle,” Fireheart meowed. “I’ve had a word with your mentors, and they think you’re ready, so I’m going to ask Bluestar if you can be made warriors.”
Brightpaw, Thornpaw, and Swiftpaw exchanged excited glances. Cloudpaw tried to look nonchalant, but there was a gleam of anticipation in his eyes too.
“Okay,” Fireheart went on. “Hunt on your way back to camp, and see that the elders and the queens are fed. Then you can eat.”
“If there’s anything left,” mewed Swiftpaw.
Fireheart flicked a glance at him. Swiftpaw sometimes picked up discontented rumblings from his mentor, Longtail, who had once been a close ally of Tigerclaw, but on this occasion he seemed to be trying to make a joke. All four young cats sprang up and dashed out of the training hollow. Fireheart heard Brightpaw yowling to Cloudpaw, “Bet I catch more prey than you!”
It seemed a long time since he had been that carefree, Fireheart reflected as he followed more slowly. Under the weight of his responsibilities as deputy, he sometimes felt older than the elders. The Clan was surviving, managing to find food and to rebuild the devastated camp, but all the warriors were overstretched. Fireheart was on his paws from dawn to sunset, and every night he went to his den with tasks still undone. How long can we go on? he asked himself. It’ll get harder, not easier, when leaf-bare comes. Already the few leaves that the fire had left on the trees were turning red and gold. As Fireheart paused at the top of the hollow, he felt a chill breeze ruffle his fur, though the sun shone brightly.
He slipped quietly back into camp and stood for a moment near the entrance, looking around. Darkstripe, who was in charge of the rebuilding, had started to patch the remaining gaps in the branches of the warriors’ den. Dustpelt was working with him and the two younger apprentices, Fernpaw and Ashpaw.
On the other side of the camp Fireheart saw Cinderpelt making her way to the elders’ den, carrying some herbs in her jaws.
In the center of the clearing, Goldenflower’s two kits were playing with Speckletail’s kit, while the queens sat watching them near the entrance to the nursery. Willowpelt was there too, carefully guarding her litter, who were much younger, from the rough play of the older kits.
Fireheart’s gaze rested on Bramblekit, the bigger of Goldenflower’s kits. That strong, muscular body and dark brown pelt were disturbingly familiar; no cat who looked at the kit could doubt that Tigerstar was his father. The thought always made Fireheart uneasy, and he struggled to push it aside. Logically, he knew that he should feel just as suspicious of the kit’s sister, Tawnykit, but though she shared the same father, she didn’t share the misfortune of looking exactly like him. Fireheart knew it was unfair to blame Bramblekit for his father’s crimes.
Yet Fireheart could not banish the memory of the young kit clinging to a branch of a blazing tree, wailing in terror as Fireheart tried to reach him. And he could not forget that while he was rescuing Bramblekit, the fire had trapped Yellowfang in her den. Had he sacrificed Yellowfang to save Tigerstar’s son?
Suddenly a shrill squeal came from the group of kits. Bramblekit had bowled over Snowkit and was holding him down on the ground with his claws. The squealing came from the sturdy white kit, who didn’t seem to be trying to defend himself.
Fireheart shot forward, barreling into Bramblekit and knocking him away from his v
ictim. “Enough!” he snarled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The dark tabby kit picked himself up, amber eyes glaring with shock and indignation.
“Well?” Fireheart demanded.
Bramblekit shook dust off his fur. “It’s nothing, Fireheart. We’re only playing.”
“Only playing? Then why was Speckletail’s kit crying out like that?”
The glow died from Bramblekit’s amber eyes and he shrugged. “How should I know? He can’t play properly anyway.”
“Bramblekit!” It was Goldenflower who spoke, coming to stand beside her kit. “How many times do I have to tell you? If somebody squeals, you let go. And don’t be so rude to Fireheart. Remember, he’s the deputy.”
Bramblekit’s eyes flicked to Fireheart and away again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Yes, well, make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Fireheart snapped.
Bramblekit padded past him to where Snowkit still crouched on the ground. Speckletail was giving his white fur a brisk lick. “Come on, get up,” she meowed. “You’re not hurt.”
“Yeah, come on, Snowkit,” Bramblekit mewed, swiping his tongue over the kit’s ear. “I didn’t mean it. Come and play, and you can be Clan leader this time.”
Bramblekit’s sister, Tawnykit, was sitting a couple of tail-lengths away, her tail curled around her paws. “He’s no fun,” she mewed. “He never has any good games.”
“Tawnykit!” Goldenflower cuffed her lightly across one ear. “Don’t be so nasty. I don’t know what’s gotten into the pair of you today.”
Snowkit was still crouched on the ground, and got up only when his mother nudged him to his feet.
“Maybe you should let Cinderpelt check him,” Fireheart advised the pale tabby queen. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”
Speckletail swung her head around and glared at her Clan deputy. “There’s nothing wrong with my kit!” she growled. “Are you saying that I can’t look after him properly?” Turning her back on Fireheart, she herded Snowkit back into the nursery.
“She’s very protective of her kit,” Goldenflower explained. “I think it comes of having only the one.” She blinked fondly at her two kits, now scuffling together on the ground.