by Erin Hunter
Yowls of protest from ThunderClan warriors broke out before Tigerstar had finished speaking. Fireheart was too stunned to join in. He had been concerned all along that meeting with his kits at Gatherings would not be enough for Tigerstar, but he had never expected a public demand for the kits to be handed over to ShadowClan.
Bluestar drew herself up and waited for the noise to die away before she replied. “Certainly not,” she meowed. “These are ThunderClan kits. They are apprenticed now, and they will stay where they belong.”
“In ThunderClan?” Tigerstar challenged her. “I think not, Bluestar. The kits belong with me, and my warriors will take care of their apprentice training.”
By that argument, Fireheart thought, Graystripe’s kits should be returned to ThunderClan, although he guessed that Bluestar wouldn’t want to reopen that debate with RiverClan. He was relieved to see that Bluestar was not going to back down easily. “Your concern is natural, Tigerstar. But you can be sure that the kits will receive the best possible training in ThunderClan.”
Tigerstar paused again, his gaze sweeping around the clearing, and when he spoke again it was not just to Bluestar but to the whole audience of cats. “The ThunderClan leader tells me how well my kits will be trained under her guidance—but ThunderClan have a poor record in looking after their young cats. One kit carried off by a hawk. One apprentice savaged to death and another permanently crippled when they were sent out alone without a warrior. Does any cat wonder that I’m concerned about the safety of my kits?”
Gasps of horror came from all around the clearing. Fireheart gaped up at the ShadowClan leader. How had Tigerstar learned about Swiftpaw and Brightpaw? It was too soon for news to have traveled to ShadowClan, except…Darkstripe! Fireheart thought, flexing his claws in anger. That treacherous warrior must have gone straight to Tigerstar and blurted out everything!
In his fury Fireheart missed Bluestar’s reply, and when he made himself concentrate Tigerstar was speaking again. “I don’t see what’s so difficult,” he meowed smoothly. “After all, it won’t be the first time that ThunderClan has handed over kits to other Clans. Will it, Bluestar?”
Fear clenched in Fireheart’s belly. Tigerstar was referring obliquely to Mistyfoot and Stonefur. Graypool had told Tigerstar that they had been born in ThunderClan. Fireheart thanked StarClan that Tigerstar did not know the names of the kits or who their mother was. But what little he knew was more than the rest of ThunderClan.
Fireheart glanced sideways at Stonefur, sitting only a couple of tail-lengths away. The blue-gray tom had drawn himself up, his head erect, and he was staring up at the Great Rock. His gaze was not fixed on Tigerstar, Fireheart noticed, but on Bluestar, and the expression in his eyes was one of pure hatred.
Digging his claws into the ground, Fireheart waited for the ThunderClan leader’s response. He could see how shaken she was, and when she managed to reply every word seemed to catch in her throat like thorns. “The past is the past. We must judge each situation on its own merits. I will think carefully about what you say, Tigerstar, and give you my answer at the next Gathering.”
Fireheart doubted that Tigerstar would consent to wait for a whole moon, but to his surprise the ShadowClan leader dipped his head and stepped back a pace. “Very well,” he agreed. “One more moon—but no longer.”
CHAPTER 23
Fireheart padded warily through Tallpines toward the Twolegplace. Heavy rain had fallen the night before, so that wet ash and burned debris clung to his paws. All his senses were alert, not for prey, but for any sign that the dark threat in the forest would emerge to attack his small group of cats as it had attacked Swiftpaw and Lostface.
The injured she-cat was following Fireheart now, with Cloudtail at her side, while Graystripe brought up the rear, watchful for anything that might come upon them from behind. They were on their way to visit Cloudtail’s mother, Princess. The young warrior had insisted on bringing Lostface with them.
“You have to leave camp sooner or later,” he had meowed. “We’re not going anywhere near Snakerocks. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Fireheart was amazed at how much Lostface trusted Cloudtail. She was obviously terrified by the thought of venturing outside the shelter of the camp. She jumped at every sound, every crackle of leaves under her paws, yet she kept going, and Fireheart thought he saw in her a return of the courage she had shown when she was Brightpaw.
When they came in sight of the fence at the end of the Twoleg gardens, Fireheart signaled with his tail for his companions to stop. He could not see Princess, but when he opened his mouth to taste the air, he caught her scent.
“Wait here,” he told the others. “Keep a lookout and call me if there’s trouble.”
Checking again to make sure there were no fresh scents of dogs or Twolegs, he raced across the stretch of open ground and leaped up to the top of Princess’s fence. A flash of white among the bushes in her garden alerted him, and a moment later his sister appeared, picking her way fastidiously across the wet grass.
“Princess!” he called softly.
Princess halted and looked up. As soon as she saw Fireheart she bounded over to the fence and scrambled up to sit beside him.
“Fireheart!” she purred, pressing herself against him. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Fireheart replied. “I’ve brought you some visitors—look.”
He pointed with his tail to where the other three cats were crouching on the edge of the trees.
“There’s Cloudpaw!” Princess exclaimed delightedly. “But who are the others?”
“That big gray tom is my friend Graystripe,” Fireheart told her. “You don’t need to worry—he’s much gentler than he looks. And the other cat”—he flinched—“is called Lostface.”
“Lostface!” Princess echoed, opening her eyes wide. “What a horrible name! Why did they call her that?”
“You’ll see,” Fireheart mewed grimly. “She’s been badly hurt, so be kind to her.”
He jumped down from the fence, and after a moment’s hesitation Princess followed him and padded across to where the three cats waited.
Cloudtail ran out to meet his mother, leaving Graystripe with Lostface, and touched noses with her.
“Cloudpaw, it’s ages since I’ve seen you,” Princess purred. “You’re looking wonderful, and haven’t you grown?”
“You’ve got to call me Cloudtail now,” her son announced. “I’m a warrior.”
Princess let out a little trill of joy. “A warrior already? Cloudtail, I’m so proud of you!”
While the tabby queen eagerly questioned her son about his life in the Clan, Fireheart did not forget that danger might be near. “We can’t stay long,” he meowed. “Princess, have you heard anything about a dog loose in the forest?”
Princess turned to him, her eyes wide and scared. “A dog? No, I don’t know anything about that.”
“I think that might have been what the Twolegs were looking for that day Sandstorm and I met you in Tallpines,” Fireheart went on. “I don’t think you should come into the forest alone anymore, not for the time being, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then you’re in danger all the time,” mewed Princess. Her voice rose in distress. “Oh, Fireheart…!”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Fireheart tried to sound confident. “Just stay in your garden. The dog won’t bother you there.”
“But I worry about you, Fireheart, and Cloudtail. You haven’t got a nest to—Oh!”
Princess had just caught sight of Lostface’s damaged side and could not restrain a squeak of horror. Lostface heard her and crouched closer to the ground, uneasiness showing in her bristling fur.
“Come and meet Lostface,” Cloudtail meowed, giving his mother a hard stare.
Nervously Princess took the few paces that brought her to where Graystripe and Lostface waited. Graystripe nodded to her in greeting, and Lostface gazed up at her with her one good eye.<
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“Oh, my goodness, whatever happened to you?” Princess blurted out, her paws working on the ground.
“Lostface went out to tackle the dog,” Cloudtail answered. “She was very brave.”
“And it did that to you? Oh, you poor thing!” Princess’s eyes were huger still as she took in the full horror of Lostface’s injuries—the ravaged face, the lost eye, and the shredded ear. “And the same thing could happen to any of you….”
Fireheart gritted his teeth. His sister was saying all the wrong things, and Lostface was gazing at her with deep sadness in her remaining eye. Cloudtail pressed his flank against her and nosed her comfortingly.
“It’s time we were going,” Fireheart decided. “Cloudtail just wanted to give you his news. You’d better get back into your garden.”
“Yes—yes, I will.” Princess backed away, her eyes still fixed on Lostface. “You’ll come and see me again, Fireheart?”
“As soon as I can,” he promised, and added silently, alone.
Princess retreated another pace or two, then turned and dashed for her fence, swarming up it and pausing briefly on the top to meow, “Good-bye!” before vanishing into the safety of her garden.
Cloudtail let out a long breath. “That went well,” he meowed bitterly.
“You can’t blame Princess,” Fireheart told him. “She doesn’t really understand what Clan life is all about. She’s just seen some of the worst of it, and she doesn’t like it.”
Graystripe grunted. “What can you expect from a kittypet? Let’s get home.”
Cloudtail gently nosed Lostface. As she got to her paws, the young cat mewed timidly, “Cloudtail, Princess looked as if she were scared of me. I want—” She broke off, swallowed, and began again. “I want to see myself. Is there a puddle nearby I can look into?”
Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for the young she-cat, and admiration at her courage in facing what she had become. He turned his eyes to Cloudtail, willing to be guided by the younger cat on what they should do next.
Cloudtail looked around for a moment, then pressed his muzzle against Lostface’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he meowed. He led her to where some of the previous night’s rain still lay in a puddle among the roots of a tree, and nudged the ginger-and-white she-cat to the edge of the shining water. Together they stood looking down. Cloudtail did not flinch away from what he saw reflected there, and Fireheart felt another rush of warmth toward his former apprentice.
Lostface stood rigid for several heartbeats, gazing into the water. Her body stiffened and her single eye opened wide. “Now I see,” she mewed quietly. “I’m sorry if the other cats feel upset when they look at me.”
Fireheart watched as Cloudtail turned her away from the terrible sight and covered the injured side of her face with slow, gentle licks. “You’re still beautiful to me,” he told her. “You always will be.”
Fireheart felt almost overwhelmed by his pity for the young she-cat, and his pride in Cloudtail for being so faithful to her. Padding over to them, he meowed, “Lostface, it doesn’t matter what you look like. We’re still your friends.”
Lostface dipped her head to him gratefully.
“Lostface!” Cloudtail spat suddenly. The venom in his voice startled Fireheart. “I hate that name,” he hissed. “What right does Bluestar have to remind her of what happened every time a cat speaks to her? Well, I’m not going to use it again. And if Bluestar objects, she can…she can go and eat snails!”
Fireheart knew he ought to rebuke the young warrior for his disrespectful words, but he said nothing. He had a good deal of sympathy for Cloudtail’s point of view. Lostface was a cruel name, a symbol of Bluestar’s continuing war with StarClan, given without any thought for the cat who bore it. But the name had been given to the ginger-and-white she-cat in a formal ceremony watched by StarClan, and there was nothing Fireheart could do about it now.
“Are we standing about here all day?” Graystripe asked.
Fireheart heaved a deep sigh. “No, let’s go.” The time was coming when he and his warriors would have to confront whatever had turned them into prey in their own territory.
Fireheart dreamed he was padding through a forest clearing in newleaf. Sunlight streamed through the trees, making dappled patterns of light and shade that shifted as the leaves stirred in the breeze. He paused and opened his mouth so that he could taste the air. Very faintly he made out a familiar sweet scent, and a quiver of happiness ran through him.
“Spottedleaf?” he whispered. “Spottedleaf, are you there?”
For a moment he thought he could see bright eyes shining at him from the depths of a clump of ferns. Warm breath caressed his ear, and a voice murmured, “Fireheart, remember the enemy that never sleeps.”
Then the vision faded, and he woke to find himself in the warrior’s den with the cold light of a day in leaf-bare striking him through the branches.
Still clutching at the last sheds of his dream, Fireheart stretched and shook scraps of moss from his fur. It was several moons since Spottedleaf had first warned him to beware of the enemy that never slept. That had been shortly before Tigerstar attacked the ThunderClan camp with his band of rogues—just when Fireheart had hoped that the treacherous deputy’s exile had sent him away for good.
The thought of Tigerstar reminded Fireheart of the most recent Gathering. There was no doubt now that the former deputy wanted Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, and in spite of what he said to Bluestar, Fireheart was sure that he would not be prepared to wait. Even though Fireheart was not surprised at Tigerstar’s demand, there could be no question of handing them over. Part of Fireheart would have been relieved to see them go, to put an end to his own feelings of mistrust and guilt, but these were ThunderClan kits, and the warrior code demanded that the Clan should do everything to keep them.
A rustle in the bedding behind him told Fireheart that Sandstorm was waking up. He cast an uneasy glance at her. “Sandstorm…” he began.
The ginger she-cat glared at him as she shook herself and stood up. “I’m going hunting,” she spat. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Without waiting for a reply, she padded across the den and prodded Dustpelt. “Come on, you lazy furball,” she meowed. “All the prey will die of old age before you get out there.”
“I’ll find Cloudtail for you,” Fireheart offered hastily, and slipped out of the den. Sandstorm clearly wasn’t going to welcome any attempt to be friendly.
The day was gray and cold, and as he paused to taste the air a drop of rain stung him in the face. On the far side of the clearing Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw were sitting with the other apprentices outside their den. “Bramblepaw, I’ll take you hunting later!” Fireheart called.
His apprentice got to his paws, dipped his head in acknowledgment, and sat down again with his back to Fireheart. Fireheart sighed. Sometimes it felt as if every cat in the Clan had a reason to dislike him.
He headed for the elders’ den, guessing that Cloudtail would be with Lostface. Even though the injured cat had been in the elders’ den for a few days now, Cloudtail still spent all his spare time with her. When Fireheart reached the burned-out shell of the fallen tree where the elders lived, he saw the white tom seated near the entrance to the den. His tail was curled around his paws while he watched Lostface gently examining Dappletail’s pelt for ticks.
“Is she okay?” Fireheart murmured, his voice low so that Lostface would not hear him.
“Of course she’s okay,” another voice snapped.
Fireheart turned to see Speckletail. The desolate look that she had worn since Snowkit’s death had vanished. Her temper clearly hadn’t softened, but her eyes glowed with affection as she looked at Lostface. “She’s a fine young cat. Have you found out what hurt her?”
Fireheart shook his head. “It’s a real help that you can look after her, Speckletail,” he meowed.
Speckletail sniffed. “Hmmm. I sometimes get the feeling that she thinks she has to look after me.” She looked sharply at Fi
reheart, and he was saved from having to answer by One-eye.
“Did you want something, Fireheart?” asked the elderly pale gray she-cat, looking up from her washing.
“I was looking for Cloudtail. Sandstorm’s ready to go out hunting.”
“What?” Cloudtail sprang to his paws. “Why didn’t you say so? She’ll claw my ears off if I keep her waiting!” He dashed off.
“Mouse-brain,” muttered Speckletail, but Fireheart suspected that she was as fond of the young warrior as all the elders.
Saying good-bye to Lostface and One-eye, he padded into the clearing in time to see Sandstorm leaving at the head of her hunting patrol. Brindleface was saying good-bye to them, gazing proudly at her foster kit.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” she mewed anxiously. “None of us know what’s out there.”
“Don’t worry.” Cloudtail flicked her affectionately with his tail. “If we meet the dog, I’ll bring it back for fresh-kill.”
At the entrance to the camp the patrol passed Longtail on his way in. The pale warrior was shaking as if with cold, and his eyes were staring. Instantly alarmed, Fireheart crossed the clearing to meet him.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
Longtail shuddered. “Fireheart, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What’s the problem?”
As he drew closer, Fireheart caught an unexpected scent on Longtail’s fur—the stench of the Thunderpath. The acrid scent was unmistakable, and Fireheart’s alarm turned to suspicion.
“Where have you been?” he growled. “To ShadowClan, maybe, to see Tigerstar? Don’t try to deny it; your fur stinks of the Thunderpath!”
“Fireheart, it’s not what you think.” Longtail sounded worried. “Okay, I did go that way, but I didn’t go anywhere near ShadowClan. I went to Snakerocks.”
