by Erin Hunter
Brokenstar twisted around in midair to land on his feet and looked into Firepaw’s eyes, spitting viciously. “Don’t waste your time, apprentice! I’ve shared dreams with StarClan. You will have to kill me nine times over before I join them. Do you really think you’re strong enough for that?” His eyes glowed with confidence and defiance.
Firepaw stared back at him. His belly tightened. Brokenstar was a Clan leader! How on earth could he expect to defeat him? But the watching ShadowClan cats had begun to pad slowly toward their defeated leader, snarling and hissing with hatred. They were battered and half-starved, but Brokenstar was outnumbered, and he seemed to realize this with a nervous flick of his tail. He crouched and backed away through the bushes. His eyes glittered menacingly from the shadows, his gaze finding Firepaw through the crowd.
“This isn’t over, apprentice,” he hissed before he turned and vanished into the forest after his broken warriors.
Firepaw looked to Whitestorm. “Should we go after them?” he meowed.
The warrior shook his head. “I think they got the message that they are not welcome here.”
Nightpelt, the ShadowClan warrior, nodded in agreement. “Leave them. If they dare to show their faces here again, ShadowClan will be strong enough by then to tackle them alone.”
The rest of ShadowClan was huddled together in the ruins of their camp, as if numbed by the realization that their leader had gone. It will take time to rebuild this Clan, Firepaw thought.
“The kits!”
Firepaw heard Graypaw’s meow from a far corner of the clearing. He rushed over to his friend, Mousefur and Whitestorm bounding at his heels. As they approached, they could hear the pitiful mewling of kits coming from beneath a pile of leaves and twigs. Quickly Graypaw and Mousefur dug down through the foliage until they had uncovered the missing ThunderClan kits at the bottom of a small pit.
“Are they okay?” demanded Whitestorm, his tail twitching with anxiety.
“They’re fine,” replied Graypaw. “Most have only a few scratches. But that little tabby has a pretty nasty wound on his ear. Can you take a look, Yellowfang?”
The old she-cat was licking her own wounds, but at Graypaw’s call she raced to the side of the pit, where Graypaw had carefully deposited the tabby kit.
Firepaw helped Graypaw to lift out the rest of the kits. The last one was gray, like the embers of an old fire. She mewled and squirmed as Firepaw placed her on the ground. Mousefur gathered all the kits to her and comforted them with licks and caresses.
Yellowfang looked closely at the torn ear. “We need to stop this bleeding,” she meowed.
Runningnose stepped out of the shadows. His forepaw was coated in a layer of cobwebs, which he silently passed to Yellowfang. She nodded her thanks and began to treat the kit’s wound.
Nightpelt approached the group of ThunderClan cats. “You helped ShadowClan rid itself of a brutal and dangerous leader, and we are grateful. But it is time you left our camp and returned to your own. I promise your hunting grounds will be free of ShadowClan warriors as long as we can find enough food in our own territory.”
Whitestorm nodded. “Hunt in peace for one moon, Nightpelt. ThunderClan knows you need time to rebuild your Clan.” He turned to Yellowfang. “And you, Yellowfang?” he asked. “Do you wish to return with us, or stay here with your old comrades?”
Yellowfang looked up at him. “I will make the journey back with you.” She glanced at a deep gash on Whitestorm’s hind leg. “You will need a medicine cat, for yourself as well as your kits.”
“Thank you,” purred Whitestorm. He signaled to the ThunderClan cats with a sweep of his tail and led them out of the clearing. Mousefur and Willowpelt helped the kits, who stumbled along, exhausted and bewildered. Yellowfang walked close to the wounded tabby kit, lifting him by the scruff of his neck every time he slipped. Firepaw and Graypaw followed them through the brambles, past the camp scent line and out into the forest.
The moon was still rising in the quiet sky as the ThunderClan party began the long trudge home, while around them showers of brown leaves fluttered to the forest floor.
CHAPTER 25
Buoyed up with relief at being home again, Firepaw and Graypaw sprinted ahead of the patrol into the ThunderClan camp. Frostfur was lying in the middle of the clearing, her head resting sadly on her paws. As the two apprentices bounded in she lifted her nose and sniffed the air. “My kits!” she cried. She leaped up and raced past Firepaw and Graypaw to meet the rest of the party as they emerged from the tunnel.
The kits rushed over to Frostfur and nuzzled into her side. She curled her soft body around them and licked them each in turn, purring loudly.
Yellowfang hung back at the camp entrance and looked on silently.
Bluestar strode up to the returning patrol. She glanced fondly at Frostfur and her kits and then turned her eyes to Whitestorm. “Are they all right?” she asked.
“They’re fine,” meowed Whitestorm.
“Well done, Whitestorm. ThunderClan honors you.”
Whitestorm bent his head to accept her praise, and added, “But it was thanks to this apprentice that we found them.”
Firepaw lifted his head and tail proudly, about to speak, but Tigerclaw’s accusing snarl sounded from across the clearing.
“Why did you bring back the traitor?” The dark warrior stalked up to the patrol and stood beside his leader.
“She is no traitor,” Firepaw insisted. He looked around the camp. The rest of the cats had quickly gathered in the clearing to see the kits and congratulate the hunting party. Some of them had spotted Yellowfang and were eyeing her with looks of pure hatred.
“She killed Spottedleaf,” spat Longtail.
“Look between Spottedleaf’s claws,” Graypaw suggested. “You will find the brown fur of Clawface, not Yellowfang’s gray fur!”
Bluestar nodded at Mousefur, who darted away from the crowd, toward the spot where Spottedleaf’s body lay, waiting for its dawn burial. The Clan waited in tense silence till she returned.
“Graypaw is right,” Mousefur panted, rushing back to the clearing. “Spottedleaf was not attacked by a gray cat.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd.
“But that doesn’t mean she didn’t help to take the kits!” hissed Tigerclaw.
“Without Yellowfang we never would have recovered the kits!” Firepaw spat, his exhaustion making him impatient. “She knew that a ShadowClan warrior had taken them. She was hunting for them when I found her. She risked her life returning to the ShadowClan camp. It was Yellowfang who thought up the battle plan that got us into the ShadowClan camp and gave us a chance to defeat Brokenstar!”
The cats listened to Firepaw’s words, astonished.
“He’s right,” Whitestorm meowed. “Yellowfang is a friend.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” murmured Bluestar, catching Firepaw’s eye.
Frostfur’s anxious meow sounded from the crowd. “Is Brokenstar dead?” she asked.
“No, he escaped,” Whitestorm told her. “But he will never lead ShadowClan again.”
Frostfur sighed in relief and returned to nuzzling her kits.
Whitestorm looked at Bluestar. “I promised ShadowClan we would leave them in peace until next full moon,” he explained. “Brokenstar’s leadership has left their Clan in chaos.”
Bluestar nodded. “That was a wise and generous offer,” she meowed approvingly. The ThunderClan leader walked past Whitestorm and the rest of the patrol and approached Yellowfang. Yellowfang lowered her eyes as Bluestar touched the gray cat’s rough coat with her nose.
“Yellowfang, I wish you to replace Spottedleaf as medicine cat to ThunderClan,” Bluestar meowed. “I’m sure you’ll find all her supplies as she left them.”
The other cats began to murmur to each other, tails flicking with excitement. Yellowfang looked around at them anxiously and said nothing.
Frostfur glanced at the other queens before she met Yellowfang’s gaz
e and slowly nodded her approval.
Yellowfang bent her head respectfully to the white cat before addressing her new leader. “Thank you, Bluestar. ShadowClan is not the Clan I once knew. ThunderClan is my Clan now.”
Firepaw felt a surge of satisfaction that the old she-cat he had come to love would be his Clan’s medicine cat from now on. Then his tail dropped as he realized that he would never again find Spottedleaf in her clearing, the sunlight gleaming on her soft fur, her amber eyes shining in welcome.
“Where’s Ravenpaw?” meowed Bluestar suddenly, jolting Firepaw out of his bittersweet remembrances.
“Yes,” Tigerclaw chimed in, “where is my apprentice? Strange that he should disappear along with Brokenstar.” He looked meaningfully around the Clan.
“If you think he might have been helping Brokenstar,” Firepaw meowed boldly, “then you are wrong!”
Tigerclaw stiffened, a menacing gleam in his yellow eyes.
“Ravenpaw is dead,” Firepaw went on, dropping his head as if weighed down with grief. “We found his body in ShadowClan territory. From the scents around him, he must have been slain by a ShadowClan patrol.” He looked at Bluestar. “I will tell you everything later,” he promised.
Yellowfang shot Firepaw a questioning look. Firepaw returned her gaze with a silent plea for her to hold her tongue. She twitched her ears briefly in understanding and looked away.
“I never said that Ravenpaw was a traitor,” hissed Tigerclaw. He paused and allowed an expression of sorrow to cloud his eyes before he turned to address the rest of the Clan. “Ravenpaw might have made a fine warrior. His death has come too soon, and his loss will be felt by many of us for a long time.”
Empty words! thought Firepaw bitterly. What would Tigerclaw say if he knew that Ravenpaw was safe, far beyond the forest, catching rats with Barley?
Bluestar broke the silence. “We will miss Ravenpaw, but we shall mourn him tomorrow. First there is another ritual that must be performed—one, I know, that Ravenpaw would have taken pleasure in.” She turned to Firepaw and Graypaw. “You have shown great courage tonight. Did they fight well, Whitestorm?” she asked.
“Like warriors,” Whitestorm replied solemnly.
Bluestar met his yellow-eyed gaze and gave a slight nod. Then she lifted her chin and fixed her eyes on Silverpelt’s swath of stars. Her voice rang out, clear and measured in the hushed woods. “I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn.” She looked down at Firepaw and Graypaw, narrowing her eyes. “Firepaw, Graypaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your lives?”
Firepaw felt something stir within him, a fire that burned in his belly and rang in his ears. He suddenly felt that everything he had done for the Clan so far—all the prey he had stalked, all the enemy warriors he had fought—had been for the sake of this single moment. “I do,” he replied steadily.
“I do,” echoed Graypaw, his fur bristling with excitement.
“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Graypaw, from this moment you will be known as Graystripe. StarClan honors your bravery and your strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” Bluestar stepped forward and rested her muzzle on top of Graystripe’s bowed head. He bent lower to give her shoulder a respectful lick, then straightened up and walked over to join the other warriors.
Bluestar stood and studied Firepaw for a long moment before speaking. “Firepaw, from this moment you will be known as Fireheart. StarClan honors your bravery and your strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She touched her muzzle to his head and murmured, “Fireheart, I am proud to have you as my warrior. Serve your Clan well, young one.”
Fireheart’s muscles were trembling so much that he could hardly stoop to lick Bluestar’s shoulder. He purred hoarsely to show his thanks, then slipped away to stand beside Graystripe.
Meows of tribute sounded from the crowd, and the voices of the Clan rose in the still night air to chant the new warrior names. “Fireheart! Graystripe! Fireheart! Graystripe!”
Fireheart looked around the Clan, seeing faces that had grown so familiar over the last few moons. He listened to them as they called his new name and felt overwhelmed by the kindness and respect he saw shining in their eyes.
“It is almost moonhigh,” meowed Bluestar. “In the tradition of our ancestors, Fireheart and Graystripe must sit in silent vigil until dawn, and guard the camp alone while we sleep.”
Fireheart and Graystripe nodded solemnly.
As the rest of the Clan began to melt away back to their dens, Tigerclaw pushed past Fireheart. The ThunderClan deputy slowed as he passed and hissed quietly into his ear, “Don’t think you can outwit me, kittypet. Be careful what you tell Bluestar.”
A cold shiver ran down Fireheart’s spine. Bluestar had to know about Tigerclaw’s treachery!
As Tigerclaw headed back to the warriors’ den, Fireheart left Graystripe sitting alone in the clearing and bounded after Bluestar. He caught up with her outside her den. “Bluestar, I know I’m breaking the vow of silence, but I must speak with you before I begin my vigil.”
Bluestar looked at Fireheart and shook her head. “This is an important ritual, Fireheart. You can speak to me in the morning.”
Fireheart dipped his head in acceptance. Tigerclaw was not a problem that could be solved overnight anyway. He returned to Graystripe’s side in the middle of the clearing. The two friends exchanged glances, but said nothing.
Fireheart looked at the moon above his head. His orange coat glowed silver in the cold light. Around him, the bushes and trees were draped in mist that brushed damply against his fur. Fireheart closed his eyes and recalled the dreams of his kittenhood. The cool forest scents in his nostrils were real now, and the life of a warrior stretched ahead of him. He felt unrestrained joy flood up from his paws and surge through his body. Then he opened his eyes with a jolt. Another pair of eyes was shining back at him from the warriors’ den.
Tigerclaw!
Fireheart stared back without blinking. He was a warrior now. He had made an enemy of the Clan’s deputy, but Tigerclaw had made an enemy of him. Fireheart was not the same naive young cat who had joined the Clan all those moons ago. He was bigger, stronger, faster, and wiser. If he was destined to oppose Tigerclaw, then so be it. Fireheart was ready for the challenge.
EXCERPT FROM WARRIORS #2: FIRE AND ICE
CHAPTER 1
Fireheart shivered. His flame-colored fur was still greenleaf-light; it would be a few moons before it was thick enough to keep out cold like this. He shuffled his forepaws on the hard earth. The sky was finally growing light as dawn crept slowly in. But even though his paws were cold, Fireheart could not suppress a glow of pride. After many moons as an apprentice, he was a warrior at last.
In his mind, he replayed yesterday’s victory at the ShadowClan camp: Brokenstar’s glittering eyes as the ShadowClan leader backed away, hissing threats, before fleeing into the trees after his traitorous companions. The remaining ShadowClan cats had been grateful to ThunderClan for helping them to get rid of their cruel leader, and for the peace ThunderClan had promised them while they recovered. Brokenstar had not just brought chaos to his own Clan—he had driven the whole of WindClan from their camp, right out of Clan territory. He had been a dark shadow in the forest since before Fireheart had left his kittypet life to join ThunderClan.
But for Fireheart, there was another shadow troubling his mind: Tigerclaw, ThunderClan’s deputy. Fireheart shivered again as he thought of the great ThunderClan warrior who had terrorized his apprentice, Ravenpaw. In the end, Fireheart and his best friend, Graystripe, had helped the frightened apprentice to escape into the Twoleg territory beyond the uplands. Afterward, Fireheart had told the Clan that Ravenpaw had been killed by ShadowClan.
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If what Ravenpaw said about Tigerclaw was true, it was best if the ThunderClan deputy believed his apprentice had died, for he knew a secret Tigerclaw would do anything to conceal. Ravenpaw had told Fireheart that the mighty tabby warrior had murdered Redtail, the old ThunderClan deputy, in the hope that he would become the new deputy . . . which, eventually, he had.
Fireheart shook his head to clear it of these dark thoughts and turned to glance at Graystripe sitting beside him. Graystripe’s thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold. Fireheart guessed he was looking forward to the first rays of sunshine too, but he didn’t say this out loud. Clan tradition demanded silence on this night. This was their vigil—the night when a new warrior guarded the Clan and reflected on his new name and status. Until last night, Fireheart had been known by his apprentice name of Firepaw.
Halftail was one of the first cats to wake. Fireheart could see the old cat moving among the shadows in the elders’ den. He glanced toward the warriors’ den at the other side of the clearing. Through the branches that sheltered the den, he recognized the broad shoulders of Tigerclaw as he slept.
At the foot of Highrock, the lichen that draped the entrance to Bluestar’s den twitched, and Fireheart saw his Clan leader push her way out. She stopped and lifted her head to sniff the air. Then she padded silently out of Highrock’s shadow, her long fur glowing blue-gray in the dawn light. I must warn her about Tigerclaw, thought Fireheart. Bluestar had mourned Redtail’s death with the rest of the Clan, believing him to have been killed in battle by Oakheart, the deputy of RiverClan. Fireheart had hesitated before, knowing how important Tigerclaw was to her, but the danger was too great. Bluestar needed to know that her Clan was harboring a cold-blooded murderer.
Tigerclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and met Bluestar at the edge of the clearing. He murmured something to her, his tail flicking urgently.
