Fireheart glanced awkwardly away. He felt he should share his news about Cloudpaw with Bluestar first.
“Whitestorm organized the evening patrol in your absence,” Mousefur went on.
“Er…good…thanks,” Fireheart stammered. Mousefur dipped her head politely and padded away.
As Fireheart watched her go, he tried to tell himself that Cloudpaw’s loss didn’t mean he was alone in the Clan. Most of the cats seemed to accept him as deputy, despite the broken naming ritual. Fireheart just wished he could be sure that StarClan felt the same way, and his earlier fears clouded his mind like noisy fluttering crows. Was Cloudpaw’s loss a sign that StarClan wanted to punish ThunderClan by depriving it of a potential warrior? Even worse, were the Clan’s warrior ancestors signaling that kittypets didn’t belong in the Clan?
Fireheart felt as if his legs were about to give way under the weight of his anxiety. He dropped his offering on the pile of fresh-kill and looked around. Sandstorm was lying beside Runningwind, a sparrow in her paws. Fireheart flinched as the ginger she-cat cast him a reproachful glance. He knew he would have to apologize, but first he had to tell Bluestar about Cloudpaw.
Fireheart crossed to the leader’s den and called a greeting at the entrance. He was surprised when Whitestorm’s voice answered. He poked his head through the lichen and saw Bluestar curled in her nest, her head up and eyes shining as she shared tongues with Whitestorm. For once the ThunderClan leader looked like any other warrior, enjoying the company of a trusted friend. And as he saw the contented expression on Bluestar’s face, Fireheart shied away from disturbing her with his bad news. He’d tell her later.
“Yes, what is it?” asked Bluestar.
“I…I just wondered if you were hungry,” Fireheart stammered.
“Oh.” Bluestar sounded puzzled. “Thank you, but Whitestorm brought me something.” She dipped her head toward the half-eaten pigeon that lay on the floor of her den.
“Er…fine, I’ll leave you to eat it then.” Fireheart quickly backed out before she could ask what he had been up to. He returned to the fresh-kill pile, picked up the mouse he’d caught earlier, and carried it toward the nettle clump where Sandstorm and Runningwind lay.
Sandstorm looked away when she saw him coming and busied herself with tearing the wings off her fresh-kill. Fireheart dropped his mouse onto the ground.
“Hi, there,” Runningwind greeted him. “I thought you were going to miss mealtime.”
Fireheart tried to purr a friendly reply, but his answer came out hoarsely. “Busy day.” Runningwind glanced at Sandstorm, who was still ignoring the Clan deputy, and Fireheart thought he saw the lean warrior’s whiskers twitch.
“Sorry about earlier,” Fireheart whispered to Sandstorm.
“So you should be,” she muttered, not looking up.
“You’ve been a good friend,” Fireheart persisted. “I’m sorry I made you think I don’t appreciate you.”
“Yeah, well, next time try thinking beyond your own whiskers!”
“Are we friends again?” Fireheart meowed.
“We always were,” she replied simply.
Relieved, Fireheart lay down beside her and began to crunch on his mouse. Runningwind hadn’t uttered a word, but Fireheart noticed that his eyes were glowing with amusement. His interaction with Sandstorm was obviously attracting attention from the other warriors. Fireheart felt a self-conscious prickle ripple through his fur, and he looked awkwardly around the clearing.
Darkstripe was sitting in front of the apprentices’ den talking to Ashpaw. Fireheart wondered why he was speaking to Dustpelt’s apprentice instead of sharing a meal with the other warriors. Ashpaw was shaking his head, but the dark tabby warrior carried on talking until Ashpaw lowered his eyes and began to pad across the clearing toward the nettle patch.
Fireheart’s ears twitched. From the way Darkstripe was watching the young gray apprentice, he could tell something was up.
Ashpaw stopped in front of Fireheart, his small body stiff and his tail flicking nervously.
“Is something wrong?” Fireheart asked.
“I was just wondering where Cloudpaw was,” mewed Ashpaw. “He said he’d be back by mealtime.”
Fireheart gazed past the apprentice at the dark tabby who watching them closely, his amber eyes glinting with undisguised interest. “Tell Darkstripe that if he wants to know, he should ask me himself!” he snapped.
Ashpaw flinched. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Darkstripe told me…” The apprentice shuffled his paws and suddenly looked up, staring Fireheart straight in the eye. “Actually, it’s not just Darkstripe who wants to know. I’m worried, too. Cloudpaw promised he’d be back by now.” The gray apprentice hesitated, glancing away, and finished, “Whatever else he might do, Cloudpaw always keeps his word.”
Fireheart was amazed. It had never occurred to him that Cloudpaw could have earned the respect and loyalty of his denmates like any other warrior. But what did Ashpaw mean by “whatever else he might do”?
CHAPTER 13
“Is Cloudpaw okay?” asked Ashpaw.
Fireheart blinked while he searched for the right words to explain Cloudpaw’s disappearance. “I believe Cloudpaw has left the Clan,” he murmured at last. There was no point trying to hide what had happened.
Ashpaw’s eyes grew wide with shock and bewilderment. “L-left?” he echoed. “But he…he would have told us. I mean, I never thought he’d stay there!”
“Stay where?” asked Runningwind sharply, sitting up. “What’s going on?”
Ashpaw glanced guiltily at Fireheart, knowing he had betrayed his friend’s secret.
“Go back to your supper,” Fireheart meowed gently. “You can tell Darkstripe that Cloudpaw has returned to his kittypet life. There’s no need for secrets anymore.”
“I just can’t believe he’s actually left,” mewed Ashpaw sadly. “I’ll really miss him.” He turned and plodded back to the apprentices’ den, where Darkstripe sat waiting like a hungry owl. The news would be all through the camp by sunset.
“Where has Cloudpaw gone?” demanded Runningwind, turning to Fireheart.
“He’s gone back to live with Twolegs,” Fireheart replied, each word dropping like a stone into the sultry forest air. His ears still rang with Cloudpaw’s heartbreaking cries for help, but Fireheart couldn’t see that it would do any good to start making excuses for his errant apprentice. How could he convince the Clan that Cloudpaw had been taken against his will, when they would all remember that the apprentice had been growing fat from Twoleg offerings?
Runningwind frowned. “Darkstripe is going to enjoy hearing that.”
The tabby warrior was already staring triumphantly across the clearing as he leaned down to listen to Ashpaw’s news. With a sinking feeling Fireheart watched as he trotted over to Longtail and Smallear, and the news of Cloudpaw’s disappearance began to spread through the Clan like tendrils of dark, clinging ivy. Smallear squeezed between the branches of the oak to share the news with the other elders, while Longtail nodded at his former mentor and headed toward the nursery. Just as Fireheart had feared, Darkstripe was making sure the whole camp knew that Fireheart’s kin had returned to his kittypet roots.
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” asked Sandstorm, her voice sharp with indignation. “Are you going to leave it to Darkstripe to tell the Clan about Cloudpaw?”
Fireheart shook his head. “How can I fight the truth?” he meowed sadly.
“You could speak to the Clan!” snapped Sandstorm. “Explain what really happened.”
“Cloudpaw rejected Clan life as soon as he started accepting kittypet food,” Fireheart pointed out.
“Well, you should at least tell Bluestar,” Sandstorm urged.
“Too late,” murmured Runningwind.
Fireheart followed the brown warrior’s gaze and saw Darkstripe padding toward Bluestar’s den. She was going to have her evening disturbed, when she needed peace more than anything else. Fireheart thras
hed his tail at Darkstripe’s selfish spite, although he knew that most of his anger was directed at Cloudpaw.
“Come on; you might as well eat your supper,” meowed Sandstorm, more gently now. But Fireheart had no appetite left. He could only stare around the clearing, returning the glances of the other Clan cats—some anxious, some just greedily curious—as they learned of Cloudpaw’s desertion.
Runningwind’s tail flicked one of Fireheart’s hind legs. “Look out.”
Darkstripe was heading toward them with a smug expression he didn’t even try to hide. “Bluestar wants to see you,” he meowed loudly to Fireheart. With a resigned sigh Fireheart stood up and made his way to the ThunderClan leader’s den.
He hesitated at the entrance, feeling a flicker of anxiety. It seemed inevitable that Bluestar would see Cloudpaw’s disappearance as yet another betrayal by a ThunderClan cat. Did this mean she would start to doubt Fireheart as well, because of his kittypet origins?
“Come in, Fireheart,” Bluestar called. “I can smell you lurking out there!”
He pushed through the lichen. Bluestar was curled in her nest with Whitestorm beside her, his eyes wide with curiosity. Fireheart pricked his ears, trying to stop them from twitching and betraying his nerves.
“So that’s why you came to see me earlier,” meowed Bluestar. “‘Wondering if I was hungry, indeed!” Fireheart was caught off guard by the amused purr in her voice. “You only usually offer to bring food to my den if you think I’m dying. You had me thinking there was a rumor going around the camp that I was on my last legs!”
Fireheart couldn’t believe that she was taking the news about Cloudpaw so calmly. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I was going to tell you about Cloudpaw, but you seemed so…so peaceful. I didn’t want to upset you.”
“I may not have been feeling well lately,” Bluestar acknowledged with a dip of her head, “but I’m not made of cobwebs.” Her blue eyes grew serious as she went on. “I am still your leader, and I need to know everything that’s going on in my Clan.”
“Yes, Bluestar,” answered Fireheart.
“Now, Darkstripe tells me that Cloudpaw has gone to live with Twolegs. Did you know this might happen?”
Fireheart nodded. “But not until recently,” he added. “I only found out yesterday he was visiting a Twoleg nest for food.”
“And you thought you could sort him out by yourself,” murmured Bluestar.
“Yes.” Fireheart glanced at Whitestorm, who watched in silence, his old eyes missing nothing.
“You can’t tell a cat what his heart should feel,” Bluestar warned. “If Cloudpaw’s heart longed for a kittypet life, then not even StarClan could change him.”
“I know,” Fireheart agreed. “But it’s not as simple as that.” He didn’t want to excuse Cloudpaw’s behavior to the rest of the Clan, but he wanted Bluestar to know the whole story. Although whether that was for Cloudpaw’s sake or his, he wasn’t quite sure. “He was taken away by the Twolegs against his will.”
“Taken away?” echoed Whitestorm. “What makes you say that?”
“I saw him being carried off inside a monster,” Fireheart explained. “He was crying out for help. I chased after him, but there was nothing I could do.”
“But he’d been accepting food from these Twolegs for some time,” Bluestar reminded him, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “I spoke to him about that yesterday, and I’m not sure he really wanted to live a kittypet life. He seemed to still think of himself as a Clan cat.” Fireheart swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t think Cloudpaw understood how far he was breaking the warrior code.”
“Are you sure he is the sort of warrior that ThunderClan needs?” asked Bluestar.
Fireheart lowered his eyes, ashamed of his apprentice and recognizing the truth in Bluestar’s words. “He’s still young,” he meowed quietly. “I think he has the heart of a Clan cat, even if he doesn’t realize it himself yet.”
“Fireheart.” Bluestar’s mew was gentle. “ThunderClan needs loyal, brave cats, like you. If Cloudpaw was taken, then perhaps it was what StarClan intended. He may not be forest-born, but he has been part of our Clan long enough for our warrior ancestors to take an interest in him. Don’t be too sad. Wherever he has gone, StarClan will make sure he finds happiness there.”
Fireheart raised his eyes slowly to his old mentor. “Thanks, Bluestar,” he meowed. He wanted to believe that StarClan had Cloudpaw’s best interests at heart, that they weren’t punishing the Clan or signaling their disapproval of kittypets by sending the apprentice away. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he was grateful to the Clan leader for her sympathy, and heartily relieved that she hadn’t read any darker message into Cloudpaw’s disappearance.
That night Fireheart dreamed again. The clear night sky stretched overhead as his dream swept him high above the forest to Fourtrees, holding him in its starry talons before dropping him down onto the Great Rock. Fireheart felt the ageless strength of the boulder beneath his paws and relished the coolness of the smooth stone on his pads, which still stung from chasing after Cloudpaw. He felt Spottedleaf coming, and with the feeling came a surge of relief that she had not abandoned him, like in his last dream.
“Fireheart.” The familiar voice whispered in his ears, and Fireheart spun around, expecting to see the medicine cat’s tortoiseshell coat glowing in the moonlight. But she was not there.
“Spottedleaf, where are you?” he called out, his heart aching with longing to see her.
“Fireheart,” the voice murmured again. “Beware an enemy who seems to sleep.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fireheart, his chest tightening. “What enemy?”
“Beware!”
Fireheart opened his eyes and jerked up his head. It was still dark inside the den and he could hear the steady breathing of the other ThunderClan warriors. He pushed himself up and weaved his way toward the entrance. As he slipped past Darkstripe, he noticed that the warrior’s ears were pricked and alert, although his eyes were closed.
Beware an enemy who seems to sleep. The warning sounded again in Fireheart’s head, but he shook the thought away. Spottedleaf didn’t need to remind him to be wary of Darkstripe. Fireheart knew very well that Darkstripe’s loyalty to ThunderClan did not necessarily mean loyalty to him. Spottedleaf’s warning had been about something else, something she feared Fireheart could not see for himself.
The clearing brought pale, silvery moonlight and a cool breeze. Fireheart sat at the edge and stared up at the stars. What could it be that Spottedleaf feared on Fireheart’s behalf? He searched his mind, going over everything that had happened to him recently—Bluestar’s recovery, Cloudpaw’s disappearance, his discovery of the sick ShadowClan cats. The ShadowClan cats! Cinderpelt said she had cured their sickness, but perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps they only seemed better. Fireheart felt alarm pricking like fleabites at the base of his tail. Spottedleaf had been a medicine cat. She might know that the sickness was not really cured. Perhaps she was warning him that it had already spread into the ThunderClan camp. The more Fireheart thought about it, the more certain he felt that this was what his dream had meant.
Bats flitted between the trees overhead and their soundless wings seemed to fan the flames of Fireheart’s alarm. How could he have let the ShadowClan cats stay in ThunderClan territory? He had to ask Cinderpelt if she was sure she had cured their sickness. He leaped to his paws and raced silently across the clearing, through the tunnel of ferns, and into Yellowfang’s den.
He skidded to a halt, panting. Yellowfang’s rasping snores echoed from the dark crack in the rock ahead. Fireheart could hear Cinderpelt’s gentler breathing from a nest among the ferns that walled the clearing. He thrust his head into the small hollow. “Cinderpelt!” he hissed urgently.
“Is that you, Fireheart?” she mewed sleepily.
“Cinderpelt,” Fireheart hissed again, loud enough to make the gray cat open her eyes.
She squint
ed at him, then slowly rolled onto her belly and lifted her head. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.
“Are you certain that the ShadowClan cats are really cured?” Fireheart demanded. He kept his voice low, even though he knew Yellowfang would not be able to hear him from inside her den.
Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “You woke me up to ask me that? I told you yesterday, they’re getting better.”
“But they’re still sick?”
“Well, yes,” Cinderpelt admitted. “But not nearly as sick as they were.”
“And what about you? Do you have any signs of the sickness? Have any of our cats come to you with fever or pain?”
Cinderpelt yawned and stretched. “I’m fine,” she mewed. “The ShadowClan cats are fine. ThunderClan is fine.” She shook her head wearily. “Everybody’s fine! What in StarClan is worrying you?”
“I had a dream,” Fireheart explained uncomfortably. “Spottedleaf came and told me to beware an enemy who seems to sleep. I think she means the sickness.”
Cinderpelt snorted. “The dream was probably warning you not to go waking poor old Cinderpelt, who’s had a really long day, or you might get your whiskers pulled!”
Fireheart realized she looked exhausted. She must have been even busier than usual lately, carrying out her duties in the camp as well as caring for Littlecloud and Whitethroat. “I’m sorry,” he meowed. “But I think the ShadowClan cats have to leave.”
Cinderpelt opened her eyes fully for the first time. “You said they could stay till they were completely better,” she reminded him. “Have you changed your mind because of this dream?”
“Spottedleaf has been right before,” Fireheart answered. “I can’t take the risk of letting them stay.”
Cinderpelt stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then mewed, “Let me speak to them.”
Fireheart nodded. “But you must do it tomorrow,” he insisted.
Cinderpelt rested her chin on her front paws. “I’ll tell them,” she promised. “But what if your dream was wrong? If ShadowClan is as riddled with the sickness as they say it is, you could be sending these cats to their deaths.”