As Bluestar had predicted, opinions were divided. Many cats thought that the sooner the Clan was rid of these half-breed kits, the better. But there were still several who were prepared to fight, if only because to give up the kits would mean that RiverClan had won.
Through it all, Graystripe remained silent, brooding in the warriors’ den. He left it only once to visit the nursery. When Fireheart brought him fresh-kill, he turned his head away. He hadn’t eaten since Silverstream died, as far as Fireheart could tell, and he was looking gaunt and ill.
“Is there anything you can do for him?” Fireheart asked Yellowfang, going to her den as soon as he woke the following day. “He won’t eat, he can’t sleep….”
The old medicine cat shook her head. “There’s no herb to heal a broken heart,” she murmured. “Only time will do that.”
“I feel so helpless,” Fireheart confessed.
“Your friendship helps,” Yellowfang rasped. “He might not realize it now, but one day he—”
She broke off as Cinderpaw appeared and dropped a bunch of herbs at Yellowfang’s feet. “Are these the right ones?” she asked.
Yellowfang gave the herbs a quick sniff. “Yes, that’s right,” she mewed. “You can’t eat before the ceremony,” she added, “but I will. I’m too old and creaky to get to Highstones and back without something to keep me going.” She crouched in front of the herbs and began to gulp them down.
“Highstones?” Fireheart echoed. “Ceremony? Cinderpaw, what’s going on?”
“It’s the half moon tonight,” Cinderpaw mewed happily. “Yellowfang and I are going to Mothermouth so I can be made a proper apprentice.” She gave a joyful wriggle. Fireheart felt a wave of relief that she seemed to be over her despair after Silverstream’s death, and was looking forward again to her new life as a medicine cat. Her eyes had recovered all their old sparkle, but there was a new wisdom and thoughtfulness in their blue depths now.
She was growing up, Fireheart thought, with an odd feeling of regret. His enthusiastic, sometimes scatterbrained apprentice was maturing into a cat of great inner strength and power. He knew he should rejoice in the path StarClan had chosen for her, but part of him wished that they could still go out together on the hunting trail. “I’ll come with you tonight, if you like,” he offered. “As far as Fourtrees, anyway.”
“Oh, would you, Fireheart? Thank you!” Cinderpaw mewed.
“But no farther than Fourtrees,” warned Yellowfang, getting to her paws and swiping her tongue around her mouth. “Tonight at Mothermouth is for medicine cats only.” She gave herself a brisk shake and led the way through the ferns to the clearing.
As Fireheart followed behind Cinderpaw, he saw Cloudpaw washing himself by the tree stump outside the apprentices’ den.
The white tom sprang up as soon as he saw Fireheart and raced across to him. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “Can I come?”
Fireheart glanced at Yellowfang, and when the old cat voiced no objection, he replied, “All right. It’ll be a good exercise for you, and we can hunt on the way back.” Trotting up the ravine behind the she-cats, he explained to Cloudpaw where they were going, and how Yellowfang and Cinderpaw would carry on alone to Highstones. Deep within the tunnel known as Mothermouth was the Moonstone, which glittered dazzling white when the moon shone upon it. Cinderpaw’s ceremony would take place in its unearthly light.
“What happens then?” Cloudpaw asked curiously.
“The ceremonies are secret,” growled Yellowfang. “So don’t ask Cinderpaw when she comes back. She isn’t allowed to tell you.”
“But every cat knows that she’ll receive special powers from StarClan,” Fireheart added.
“Special powers!” Cloudpaw’s eyes grew round, and he gazed at Cinderpaw as if he expected her to start uttering prophecies there and then.
“Don’t worry; I’ll still be the same old Cinderpaw,” she assured him with an amused purr. “That won’t ever change.”
The sun grew hot as the four cats made their way to Fourtrees. Fireheart was thankful for the deep shade under the trees and the cool freshness of long grass and clumps of fern as they brushed against his orange fur. All his senses were alert, and he kept Cloudpaw busy, scenting the air and reporting on what he could smell. Fireheart hadn’t forgotten the attack from ShadowClan and WindClan. They had been defeated once, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again to kill Brokentail. Besides that, Fireheart was half expecting trouble from RiverClan over Graystripe’s kits. He sighed. On a beautiful morning like this, with fresh green on the trees and prey practically leaping out of the bushes and waiting to be caught, it was hard to be thinking of attacks and death.
In spite of his worries, the group of cats reached Fourtrees without trouble. As they slid through the bushes down into the hollow, Fireheart dropped back to match Cinderpaw’s uneven steps. “Are you sure about what you’re doing?” he asked quietly. “Is it what you really want?”
“Of course! Don’t you see, Fireheart?” Cinderpaw’s eyes searched his, suddenly serious. “I have to learn as much as I can so that no cat dies because I couldn’t save them, like Silverstream.”
Fireheart flinched. He longed for a way to persuade his friend that Silverstream’s death was not her fault, but he knew he would be wasting his breath. “And will that make you happy? You know medicine cats can’t ever have kits,” he reminded her, thinking of how Yellowfang had been forced to give up Brokentail and keep her bond with him a secret.
Cinderpaw purred to comfort him. “The whole Clan will be my kits,” she promised. “Even the warriors. Yellowfang says they have about as much sense as newborns sometimes!” She took a pace forward that brought her to Fireheart’s side, and rubbed her face affectionately against his. “But you’ll always be my best friend, Fireheart. I’ll never forget you were my first mentor.”
Fireheart licked her ear. “Good-bye, Cinderpaw,” he mewed softly.
“I’m not going away forever,” Cinderpaw protested. “I’ll be back by sunset tomorrow.”
But Fireheart knew that in some ways, Cinderpaw was going away forever. When she returned, she would have new powers and responsibilities, given to her not by a Clan leader, but by StarClan. Side by side, they crossed the hollow beneath the four massive oaks and climbed the far slope to where Yellowfang and Cloudpaw were already waiting. The vast open moor stretched in front of them, a cool wind bending the sturdy clumps of heather.
“Won’t WindClan attack you if you go through their territory?” Cloudpaw mewed anxiously.
“All the Clans may pass through safely on the way to Highstones,” Yellowfang told him. “And no warrior would dare to attack medicine cats. StarClan forbid!” Turning to Cinderpaw, she asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m coming.” Cinderpaw gave Fireheart one final lick and followed the old cat out onto the springy moorland grass. The breeze ruffled her fur as she limped swiftly away without a backward glance.
Fireheart watched her go, his heart heavy. He knew his friend was at the beginning of a new and happier life, but all the same he could not stifle a pang of bittersweet regret for the life that could have been hers.
Fireheart watched the sun climbing the trees. “Tigerclaw wants me to send Cloudpaw on a solo hunting mission today,” he meowed to Graystripe.
The big gray warrior looked up in surprise. “That’s early, isn’t it? He’s barely been made apprentice.”
Fireheart shrugged. “Tigerclaw thinks he’s ready. He told me to follow him and see how he does, anyway. Would you like to come and help?”
It was the morning after Cinderpaw had returned from Mothermouth. Fireheart had met her as she slipped down the ravine in the twilight. Though she greeted him affectionately, they both knew she could not tell him what she had gone through. Her face still wore a look of rapture, and the moon itself seemed to shine from her eyes. Fireheart tried hard not to feel that he had lost her to an unknown path.
Now he sat beside the nettle pat
ch, enjoying a juicy mouse. Graystripe, crouching nearby, had taken a magpie from the pile of fresh-kill but had barely touched it.
“No, thanks, Fireheart,” he mewed. “I promised Goldenflower I’d look in on the kits. Their eyes are open now,” he added with a touch of pride.
Fireheart guessed that Goldenflower would rather that Graystripe stayed away, but he knew Graystripe would never be persuaded to leave his kits. “Okay,” he meowed. “I’ll see you later.” Swallowing the last morsel of mouse, he went to find Cloudpaw.
Tigerclaw had been busy that morning, sending out one patrol with Whitestorm to renew the scent markings along the RiverClan boundary, and another with Sandstorm to hunt around Snakerocks, so he had neglected to tell Fireheart where Cloudpaw should go for his hunting mission. Fireheart hadn’t felt the need to remind him.
“You can make for Twolegplace,” he meowed to Cloudpaw. “Then you won’t get in the way of the other patrols. You won’t see me, but I’ll be watching you. I’ll meet you by Princess’s fence.”
“Can I talk to her if she’s there?” Cloudpaw asked.
“Okay, as long as you’ve caught plenty of fresh-kill by then. But you’re not to go looking for her in the Twoleg gardens. Or their nests.”
“I won’t.” Cloudpaw’s eyes gleamed, and his snowy fur was fluffed up with excitement. Fireheart couldn’t help remembering how nervous he had felt before his own first assessment; Cloudpaw, in contrast, was bursting with confidence.
“Off you go, then,” Fireheart meowed. “Try to get there by sunhigh.” He watched the young apprentice race off toward the tunnel. “Pace yourself!” he called after him. “You’ve a long way to go!”
But Cloudpaw didn’t slow down as he disappeared into the gorse. Shrugging, more amused than annoyed, Fireheart glanced around at Graystripe, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. His half-eaten magpie was left beside the nettle patch. He must be in the nursery already, Fireheart thought, and turned to follow Cloudpaw out of the camp.
The apprentice’s scent was strong, showing where the young cat had ranged back and forth through the woods in search of prey. A flurry of loose feathers told of a caught thrush, and specks of blood on the grass showed that a mouse had fallen to his claws. Not far from the edge of the Tallpines, Fireheart found the spot where Cloudpaw had buried his fresh-kill so he could return for it later.
Impressed that his apprentice was hunting well so early in his training, Fireheart put on speed, hoping to catch up and watch him stalking his prey. But before he reached Twolegplace he caught sight of Cloudpaw racing back along his own scent trail, his fur bristling and a wild light in his eyes.
“Cloudpaw!” Fireheart ran forward to meet him, his body tingling with sudden fear.
Cloudpaw skidded to a halt, his claws scattering pine needles, barely managing to avoid a collision with Fireheart. “Something’s wrong!” he panted.
“What?” Icy claws clutched at Fireheart’s belly. “Not Princess?”
“No, nothing like that. But I saw Tigerclaw, and there were some strange cats with him.”
“At Twolegplace?” Fireheart meowed sharply. “Where we smelled them the day we visited Princess?”
“That’s right.” Cloudpaw’s whiskers twitched. “They were huddled together, just on the edge of the trees. I tried to get closer to hear what they were saying, but I was afraid they would see my white fur. So I came to find you.”
“You did the right thing,” Fireheart told him, his mind racing frantically. “What were these cats like? Did they have a Clan scent?”
“No.” Cloudpaw wrinkled his nose. “They smelled of crowfood.”
“And you didn’t recognize them?”
Cloudpaw shook his head. “They were thin and hungry-looking. Their fur was all mangy. They were horrible, Fireheart!”
“And they were talking to Tigerclaw.” Fireheart frowned. That was the detail that worried him. He could take a guess at who the strange cats were—the former ShadowClan warriors who had left their Clan with Brokentail when he had been driven out. They had caused trouble before, and there were no other rogues that Fireheart knew of in the forest now—but what Tigerclaw was doing with them was a mystery.
“All right,” he mewed to Cloudpaw. “Follow me. And keep as quiet as if you were creeping up on a mouse.” He headed cautiously toward Twolegplace, stalking from paw to paw over the softly cracking pine needles. Long before he reached the edge of the forest he picked up the strong reek of cats. The only one he could identify was Tigerclaw, and as if the thought had summoned him the deputy came into sight at that moment, bounding through the trees in the direction of the camp.
There was no undergrowth to provide cover under the pine trees. All Fireheart and Cloudpaw could do was flatten themselves in one of the deep furrows carved out by the Treecut monster and pray to StarClan they wouldn’t be seen.
A group of scrawny warriors poured after Tigerclaw. Their jaws were parted eagerly and their eyes blazed. All the cats were so intent on the trail that they never noticed Fireheart and Cloudpaw, crouching in their scant cover a few rabbit-hops away.
Fireheart lifted his head and watched them race out of sight. For a moment he was frozen with horror and disbelief. There were more of them, he realized, than the group who had left ShadowClan with Brokentail moons before. Tigerclaw must have recruited more loners from somewhere. And he was leading them straight toward the ThunderClan camp!
CHAPTER 27
“Run!” Fireheart ordered his apprentice. “Run like you’ve never run before!”
Already he was pelting through the trees, not waiting to see if Cloudpaw could keep up. There was just a faint hope that he could outpace Tigerclaw and the rogues, and warn the Clan.
He sent out all those patrols this morning, Fireheart thought, fighting back panic. And he told me to follow Cloudpaw. He left the camp with barely a warrior to defend it. He’s been planning this all along!
Fireheart hurtled through the trees, his powerful muscles bunching and stretching as he drove himself on. But when he reached the ravine, he realized that he had not run fast enough. The hindquarters and tails of the last of the rogues were just vanishing into the gorse tunnel.
Launching himself down the steep side of the ravine, with Cloudpaw scrabbling down behind him, Fireheart let out a yowl. “ThunderClan! Enemies! Attack!” He hurled himself into the tunnel and at the same moment he heard another yowl from the camp ahead.
“To me, ThunderClan!”
It was the familiar battle cry, but the voice was Tigerclaw’s. A thought flickered into Fireheart’s shocked mind: What if he had made a mistake? What if the rogues had been chasing Tigerclaw, not following him?
He burst into the clearing just as Tigerclaw whirled on the band of rogues, who scattered, yowling, from his attack. The deputy certainly looked as if he were trying to drive enemies from the camp, but Fireheart was close enough to see that his claws were sheathed. His heart plummeted. Tigerclaw’s brave defense was all a sham. He had brought these enemy cats here, but he was cunning enough to conceal his own treachery.
There was no time for any more thought. However they had come here, the rogue cats were now attacking the camp. Fireheart turned swiftly to Cloudpaw.
“Go and find the patrols and tell them to come back,” he ordered. “Whitestorm is somewhere along the RiverClan boundary, and Sandstorm went to Snakerocks.”
“Yes, Fireheart.” Cloudpaw raced back into the tunnel.
Fireheart sprang at the nearest rogue, a dark mottled tabby, and raked his claws down his side. The rogue snarled and twisted toward him, paws splayed for attack. He tried to pin Fireheart down; Fireheart’s hindpaws pummeled his belly, and the rogue broke away howling.
Fireheart scrambled to his paws and crouched with tail lashing and fur bristling as he looked around for another enemy. Outside the entrance to the nursery, Graystripe was wrestling a rogue with a pale coat, the two of them rolling over and over as they tried to get hold with teeth and
claws. Brindleface and Speckletail were fighting against a warrior twice their size. Near the warriors’ den, Mousefur dug her front claws into the shoulder of a huge tabby, while her back claws shredded his flank.
Then Fireheart froze with shock. At the other side of the clearing, Brokentail had pounced on his guard, Dustpelt, fastening his teeth in the younger cat’s throat. Dustpelt was struggling furiously to free himself. Though Brokentail was blind, he was still a formidable fighter, and he hung on. Fireheart realized with dread that he was fighting on the side of his old rogue companions, the cats who had left ShadowClan with him—not for ThunderClan, who had risked so much to defend him when he was injured and alone.
A tiny picture flashed into Fireheart’s mind, of Tigerclaw and Brokentail lying side by side, sharing tongues. That had not been evidence of the deputy’s compassion. Tigerclaw had been planning this with the former ShadowClan tyrant!
There was no time to think about that now. Fireheart plunged across the clearing to help Dustpelt, but before he got halfway he was bowled over by a rogue cat. His flank stung as claws raked down it. Green eyes glared a mouse-length from his own. Fireheart bared his fangs and tried to bite down into the enemy’s shoulder, but the rogue cat batted him away. Claws ripped into his ear. His belly was exposed and he couldn’t twist free. Suddenly his attacker let out a wail and released him. Fireheart caught a glimpse of the young apprentice Thornpaw with his teeth fastened into the rogue’s tail; the rogue dragged him through the dust until Thornpaw released him and the enemy fled.
Panting, Fireheart scrambled to his paws. “Thanks,” he gasped. “Well done.”
Thornpaw nodded briefly before racing off to where Graystripe still battled in front of the nursery. Fireheart looked around again. Dustpelt had vanished and Brokentail was stumbling farther into the clearing, letting out a weird wailing that struck a chill into Fireheart’s heart. Even blind, the former ShadowClan leader possessed a terrifying power that seemed driven by something more than mortal.