Feeling even more despondent than before, Fireheart went on to Bluestar’s den. When he looked through the entrance he thought she was asleep, curled up in her nest, but almost at once her blue eyes blinked open and she raised her head.
“Fireheart.” Her voice was dull. “What do you want?”
“Just reporting, Bluestar.” Fireheart slipped into the den and stood in front of his leader. “All the cats are back. There are no serious injuries, as far as I can see.”
“Good.” Sounding a little more interested, she added, “Your apprentice fought well today.”
“Yes, he did.” Fireheart felt a rush of pride in his kin. Whatever problems there had been with Cloudpaw in the past, no one could question his courage.
“I think it’s time he became a warrior,” Bluestar went on. “We’ll hold his naming ceremony at sunset.”
Hope flared in Fireheart’s chest. Had Bluestar finally accepted the need to make new warriors?
But his optimism ebbed away like water into sand when Bluestar’s lips curled into a sneer, and she added, “There must be a ceremony, I suppose. It means nothing to me, but these cats are so gullible they’ll never accept Cloudpaw without one.”
And how much meaning does the ceremony have for Cloudpaw? Fireheart asked himself. Does he really care about the warrior code? If not, he reflected, then the young cat didn’t deserve to become a warrior, no matter how well he fought.
But Bluestar had made up her mind, and Fireheart wouldn’t try to change it. Instead he suggested, “Swiftpaw should be a warrior too. He did well today.”
“Swiftpaw carried a message back to the camp. That’s apprentice work. He’s not ready to become a warrior yet.”
“But he came back to the battle,” Fireheart objected.
“No!” Bluestar’s tail lashed in anger. “I cannot trust Swiftpaw. Cloudpaw is stronger and braver—and besides, he doesn’t grovel to StarClan like the rest of you. The Clan needs more warriors like that.”
Fireheart wanted to say that Cloudpaw’s lack of respect for the warrior code was the last thing ThunderClan needed, but he did not dare. Instead he dipped his head and backed away. “I’ll see you at sunset,” he meowed, and went to break the news to Cloudpaw.
His apprentice, as Fireheart had guessed, was delighted at the news that he was to become a warrior at last. Fireheart instructed him on what he had to do in the ceremony, and then headed for the warriors’ den and some much-needed sleep. His heart sank right to his paws when he spotted Longtail sitting with the apprentices outside their den. There was one more thing he had to do before he could rest.
Padding toward Longtail, he jerked his muzzle for the tabby warrior to join him, out of earshot of the apprentices. “Longtail,” he began, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry, I’ve got some bad news. Bluestar has agreed to make Cloudpaw a warrior, but—”
“But not Swiftpaw?” Longtail finished angrily. “That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Longtail,” he meowed. “I tried to persuade Bluestar, but she wouldn’t agree.”
“So you say.” The pale warrior sneered. “But it’s strange that your apprentice is chosen, and mine is ignored. Swiftpaw never went off to live with Twolegs!”
“I’m not going into all that again,” Fireheart retorted. Cloudpaw had never intended to leave the Clan, but every cat knew that he had visited the Twoleg nest regularly for food before the Twolegs captured him and shut him in. “Bluestar said she’s making Cloudpaw a warrior because he fought well, while Swiftpaw…”
“Took a message.” Longtail’s tabby fur bristled with fury. “And who made him take it? He would have stayed to fight if you hadn’t sent him away!”
“I know that,” Fireheart mewed wearily. “I’m just as disappointed as you are. I’ll do my best to get Swiftpaw made a warrior soon, I promise.”
“If I believed that, I’d believe anything!” Longtail spat. He turned his back on Fireheart, scraped angrily at the ground as if he were covering his dirt, and stalked back to the apprentices.
The sun was sinking behind the wall of the camp when Fireheart emerged from the warriors’ den with Graystripe close behind him. Sleep had restored his body, and he tried to feel optimistic about the coming ceremony, even though he was not looking forward to it.
Shadows were stretching across the camp, and Fireheart saw that Bluestar had emerged from her den. To his relief she was moving easily, and the shoulder wound she had taken in the battle didn’t seem to be bothering her as she sprang up onto the Highrock.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting,” she called.
Graystripe gave Fireheart a friendly nudge. “You’ve done well with Cloudpaw,” he meowed. “I never thought that pest of a kit would grow up into such a fine warrior!”
Fireheart acknowledged his friend’s praise by pressing his muzzle against the gray warrior’s shoulder. His friend remember how upset he had been when Cinderpelt had her accident, and knew how much it meant to Fireheart to have an apprentice ready to be made a warrior at last. Graystripe had seen his own apprentice, Brackenpaw, made a warrior long ago.
Many of the cats were already in the clearing. News of Cloudpaw’s warrior ceremony must have spread around the camp. Cinderpelt appeared from her den and took her place near the base of the rock, while Goldenflower brought her two kits to sit at the front of the gathering crowd. Willowpelt’s litter stayed with their mother near the entrance to the nursery.
Fireheart couldn’t help noticing that the other apprentices were the last to join the circle around the rock. He saw Brightpaw nudging Swiftpaw out of their den. Even when the black-and-white cat had crossed the clearing, he stayed on the very edge of the crowd, and the other apprentices settled down around him.
A pang of dismay shot through Fireheart. It wasn’t Cloudpaw’s fault that Bluestar had chosen him and none of the others. It would be hard for him not to have the good wishes of his friends when he became a warrior.
But Cloudpaw didn’t seem bothered. He strolled out of the elders’ den and padded across to Fireheart with his tail waving in the air, his eyes shining with excitement.
Fireheart murmured into his ear, “I’m very proud of you, Cloudpaw. Tomorrow you can take a hunting patrol over to Twolegplace and tell Princess.”
Cloudpaw shot him a delighted look, but before he could say anything, Bluestar spoke. “Cloudpaw, you fought well against RiverClan this morning, and I have decided that the time has come for you to take your place as a warrior in ThunderClan.”
The white tom turned to face the Highrock and gazed up at his leader as she began to speak the ritual words. “I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.”
Her voice was harsh, and Fireheart thought that it was obvious that she was merely going through the motions of a ritual that had ceased to have meaning for her. Uneasily he wondered whether StarClan would be willing to watch over Cloudpaw when neither he nor his leader had any respect for their warrior ancestors.
“Cloudpaw,” Bluestar continued, “do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”
“I do,” Cloudpaw meowed fervently.
Did he understand what he was promising? Fireheart wondered. He was sure that Cloudpaw would do his best to protect the Clan, because these cats were his friends, but he knew that the young cat wouldn’t be prompted to act by any sense of loyalty to the warrior code.
“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name,” Bluestar went on, each word dragged out of her like thorns. “Cloudpaw, from this moment you will be known as Cloudtail. StarClan honors your courage and your independence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”
Leaping down from the Highrock, sh
e padded over to Cloudtail and rested her muzzle on his head. Cloudtail gave her shoulder a respectful lick, then went over to stand beside Fireheart.
This was the moment at which the Clan should have greeted the new warrior by chanting his name, but now there was only silence. Fireheart heard uneasy murmurs start up around him, as if the cats had sensed Bluestar’s lack of conviction when she recited the ritual. Flicking a glance at the apprentices at the edge of the crowd, Fireheart saw that they were all looking at their paws, and Swiftpaw had turned his back on his old den mate.
Cloudtail was beginning to look a little crestfallen when Brindleface, who had suckled him as a tiny kit, padded up and pressed her tabby muzzle against his. “Well done, Cloudtail!” she exclaimed. “I’m so proud of you!”
As if she had given a signal, Cinderpelt and Graystripe came up, and then at last the other cats began to crowd around, greeting Cloudtail by his new name and congratulating him. Fireheart breathed a sigh of relief that the awkward moment was over. But he couldn’t help noticing that Longtail was nowhere to be seen, and the apprentices waited until the very end to come up, led by Brightpaw, each mewing a few quick, subdued words before slipping away again. Swiftpaw was not among them.
“You’re keeping vigil tonight,” Fireheart reminded his former apprentice, trying to sound as if this were like any other warrior naming ceremony. “Remember, you have to stay silent until dawn.”
Cloudtail nodded and padded off to take up a position in the center of the clearing. His head and tail were raised proudly, but Fireheart knew that the ceremony had been shadowed by the jealousy of the other apprentices, and by Bluestar’s transparent loss of faith.
How long could the Clan survive, Fireheart wondered, when their leader no longer honored StarClan?
CHAPTER 19
Next morning, Fireheart watched the dawn patrol leave before going to relieve Cloudtail from his vigil. His injured leg felt stiff, but the bleeding had stopped.
“All quiet?” he meowed. “Do you want to sleep now, or are you up to going hunting? We could go through Tallpines, if you like, and see Princess.”
Cloudtail stretched his jaws in an enormous yawn, but a heartbeat later he had sprung to his paws. “Let’s hunt!”
“Okay,” Fireheart mewed. “We’ll take Sandstorm with us. She has met Princess too.”
Fireheart knew that his closeness to Sandstorm had been trickling away ever since he had stopped the battle with WindClan. He desperately wanted to restore their previous bond, and inviting her to go hunting might be a good way of doing that.
Glancing around to see if she had emerged from the den, he spotted Dustpelt padding toward him, with Fernpaw following. As they drew closer, Fireheart could see that the light brown warrior looked worried.
“There’s something you ought to know,” Dustpelt announced. “Fernpaw, tell Fireheart what you just told me.”
Fernpaw’s head was lowered, and she scuffled in the dust with her front paws. Her hesitation gave Fireheart time to wonder what was troubling her, and why she had chosen to confide in Dustpelt instead of her mentor, Darkstripe.
The second question was answered as Dustpelt bent his head and gave her ear a couple of licks. Fireheart had never seen the prickly young warrior so gentle. “It’s okay,” Dustpelt mewed. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Fireheart won’t be angry with you.” The glare he gave Fireheart, unseen by Fernpaw, said, He’d better not! “Come on, Fernpaw.” Fireheart tried to sound encouraging. “Tell me what is the matter.”
Fernpaw’s green eyes flickered toward him and away again. “It’s Swiftpaw,” she mewed. “He…” She hesitated, this time with a glance at Cloudtail, and then went on: “He was really angry that Bluestar wouldn’t make him into a warrior. Last night he got all us apprentices together in the den. He said we’d never be warriors unless we did something so brave that Bluestar couldn’t go on ignoring us anymore.”
She paused again, and Dustpelt murmured, “Go on.”
“He said we ought to find out who has been killing prey in the forest,” mewed Fernpaw, her voice shaking. “He said you didn’t seem bothered about finding our enemy. He wanted us to go to Snakerocks because that’s where most of the scraps of prey have been found. Swiftpaw thought we might pick up a trail.”
“What a mouse-brained idea!” Cloudtail burst out.
“And what did the rest of the apprentices think about this?” Fireheart asked, shooting a warning glance at Cloudtail and trying to ignore the cold lump of apprehension that was gathering in his belly.
“We didn’t know. We want to be warriors, but we all knew we shouldn’t do something like that without orders, and without at least one warrior with us. In the end, only Swiftpaw and Brightpaw went.”
“Did you see them go when you were on vigil?” Fireheart demanded, turning to look at Cloudtail.
Beginning to look worried, Cloudtail shook his head.
“Swiftpaw said Cloudtail wouldn’t notice a Twoleg monster roaring through the camp,” Fernpaw mumbled. “He and Brightpaw sneaked out through the ferns behind the elders’ den.”
“When was this?” Fireheart demanded.
“I’m not sure—before dawn.” Fernpaw’s voice rose as if she were about to start wailing like a tiny kit. “I didn’t know what to do. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t want to give them away. Only I’ve been feeling worse and worse, and so when I saw Dustpelt, I went to tell him.” She gave the brown tabby warrior a grateful glance, and he pressed his muzzle against her speckled gray flank.
“We’ll have to go after them,” Fireheart decided.
“I’m coming,” Cloudtail meowed instantly, startling Fireheart by the blaze in his blue eyes. “Brightpaw’s out there. If anything’s hurt her, I’ll…I’ll shred it!”
“Okay,” Fireheart agreed, surprised to realize that the young warrior cared so transparently for his former den mate. “Go and fetch a couple more cats to come with us.”
As the new warrior shot off, Dustpelt meowed, “We’ll come too.”
“I don’t want the apprentices involved,” Fireheart replied. “Fernpaw is upset enough as it is. Why don’t you take her hunting? Take Ashpaw and Darkstripe as well. The Clan needs fresh-kill.”
Dustpelt gave him a long look. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Fireheart wondered whether he ought to tell Bluestar what was going on before they left, but he was reluctant to get Swiftpaw into trouble and give the Clan leader another excuse why the young cat shouldn’t become a warrior. If we can fetch them back, Bluestar need never know, he told himself.
Besides, Fireheart didn’t want to waste a single moment. Cloudtail was already returning with Sandstorm and Graystripe hard behind him. Just the cats I’d have chosen, Fireheart thought. He couldn’t ignore the warm feeling at the thought that Graystripe was home again, and they could hunt and fight together as they used to. The gray warrior’s eyes were shining as he fell into his accustomed place at Fireheart’s side. Fireheart wished he could have had Whitestorm, too; he was Brightpaw’s mentor, but he had gone out with the dawn patrol.
Sandstorm looked her usual self, alert and focused on their mission. “Cloudtail told us,” she meowed briskly. “Let’s go.”
Fireheart took the lead out of the camp and up to the top of the ravine. Almost at once he picked up Swiftpaw’s and Brightpaw’s scent leading directly toward Snakerocks. There was no need to spend time trying to track them; all they had to do was get to Snakerocks as soon as possible.
But we’ll be too late, he thought. If they meet whatever’s out there…
He raced through the forest, his paws scattering fallen leaves. The stiffness in his injured leg was forgotten. Graystripe ran close beside him, and Fireheart recognized the comfort of facing danger with his friend by his side once again, even though so much had changed.
As they approached Snakerocks, Fireheart slowed down and signaled with his tail for the other cats to do the same. If they dashed straight in without knowing
what they had to face, they would be no help to the apprentices. They had to treat this threat, whatever it was, like any other enemy. But something inside Fireheart screamed that it was unpredictable, far beyond the reach of any Clan code, and that he was in more danger than he had ever been in before. Was this how mice and rabbits felt, he wondered, knowing that death could be stalking through the undergrowth?
Everything was still. Fireheart did not want to risk calling to the apprentices in case he alerted whatever was lurking up ahead. Swiftpaw must be right, he realized; this was the center of the darkness that had poisoned the forest, but he began to doubt his theories about what the threat was. Could one dog really cause so much destruction and fear in the forest?
As cautiously as if he were stalking prey, Fireheart slid through the undergrowth until the smooth, sand-colored sides of Snakerocks came into sight. For a few heartbeats he stood and tasted the air. A mixture of scents reached him: Swiftpaw’s and Brightpaw’s, still fresh; the staler scent of other ThunderClan cats; dog, as Fireheart had expected; but over it all the stench of newly spilled blood.
Sandstorm turned to look at him, her eyes huge with fear. “Something terrible has happened.”
Terror coursed through Fireheart. He was about to confront the source of the fear that had stalked him for more than a moon, the faceless enemy that had invaded their forest. He was barely able to make himself go on.
With a twitch of his tail he gestured for his companions to move forward again; now they crept with their bellies close to the ground, intent on seeing without being seen, until the rocks were only a few fox-lengths away.
A fallen tree barred their way. Scrambling onto the trunk, Fireheart looked out over an open space carpeted with dead leaves. Foul-tasting bile rose into his throat as he took in the scene in front of him. The leaves had been churned up by massive paws, and clots of earth sprayed upward to catch in the branches of the tree. In the middle of the clearing Swiftpaw’s black-and-white body lay motionless, and just beyond him, Brightpaw.