“We should take a party anyway,” Fireheart told him. “The other Clans must be warned about Tigerclaw. His group of rogues is a threat to all the Clans.”
Whitestorm nodded. “We could tell them Bluestar is ill, I suppose,” he suggested. “But we might be inviting trouble if we let it be known that our leader is weak.”
“It would be worse not to go at all,” Fireheart pointed out. “The other Clans will know about the fire. We must appear to be as strong as we can.”
“WindClan is clearly still hostile,” Whitestorm agreed.
“The fact that Sandstorm, Cloudpaw, and I fought them and won in their own territory won’t have helped,” Fireheart admitted. “And there’s RiverClan to consider.”
Whitestorm curiously looked at him. “But they gave us shelter after the fire.”
“I know,” Fireheart replied. “But I can’t help wondering if Leopardfur might demand something in return.”
“We have nothing to give.”
“We have Sunningrocks,” Fireheart answered. “RiverClan made no secret of their interest in that part of the forest, and right now we need every bit of our territory for hunting.”
“At least ShadowClan is weakened by sickness,” meowed Whitestorm. “That’s one Clan that won’t be attacking us for a while.”
“Yes,” agreed Fireheart, feeling guilty that they should be helped by another Clan’s suffering. “Actually, the news about Tigerclaw might work in our favor.” Whitestorm stared at him, puzzled, and Fireheart went on: “If I can persuade the other Clans that he’s a threat to them as well as us, they might put all their energy into protecting their own borders.”
Whitestorm nodded slowly. “It might be our best hope of keeping them away from our territory while we recover our strength. You’re right, Fireheart. We must go to the Gathering, even if Bluestar is unable to come with us.” His blue gaze met Fireheart’s, and he knew that they were thinking the same thing. Bluestar was able to go if she wanted—but she chose not to.
As the sun set, the cats began to take fresh-kill from the meager pile they had collected. Fireheart helped himself to a tiny shrew, which he carried to the nettle clump and gulped down in a few hungry mouthfuls. The Clan’s bellies hadn’t been full for days. The prey was returning, but slowly, and Fireheart knew they had to be careful about how much they caught. The forest must have a chance to replenish itself before they could eat their fill once more.
Once the cats had finished their paltry meal, Fireheart got to his paws and padded across the clearing. He felt the eyes of the Clan follow him as he leaped onto the Highrock. There was no need to call them—they gathered below with questioning eyes in the fading evening light.
“Bluestar will not be coming to this Gathering,” he announced.
Mews of alarm ripped through the cats, and Fireheart saw Whitestorm weaving among them, calming and reassuring them. How much had the Clan guessed about their leader’s state of mind? In the RiverClan camp they had united to protect Bluestar from prying eyes. But here in their own camp, her weakness left them vulnerable and afraid.
Tigerclaw’s tabby kit sat outside the nursery, staring up at the Highrock with round, curious eyes. For a moment Fireheart let himself be mesmerized by its yellow gaze, and images of Tigerclaw began to prowl around the edges of his mind.
“Does this mean ThunderClan won’t attend?” He was roused by Darkstripe’s voice as the striped warrior shouldered his way to the front. “After all, what is a Clan without a leader?”
Was Fireheart imagining the ominous glint in Darkstripe’s eye? “ThunderClan will go to Fourtrees tonight,” he meowed, addressing the whole Clan. “We must show the other Clans that we are strong, despite the fire.” He saw nods of agreement. The apprentices shuffled their paws and looked eagerly at one another, too young to understand the seriousness of attending a Gathering without a leader, and distracted by the hope that they might be chosen to go themselves.
“We mustn’t betray any weakness, for Bluestar’s sake and for the sake of the whole Clan,” Fireheart went on. “Remember, we are ThunderClan!” He yowled the final words, surprised by the fiery conviction that welled up from his heart, and the Clan responded by straightening their backs, licking at their ash-covered fur, and smoothing their singed whiskers.
“I shall take Darkstripe, Mousefur, Sandstorm, Whitestorm, Ashpaw, and Cloudpaw.”
“Will the others be enough to protect the camp?” Darkstripe demanded.
“Tigerclaw will know there is a Gathering,” added Longtail. “What if he uses the opportunity to attack?”
“We can’t afford to leave more cats behind than usual. If we appear weak at the Gathering, we risk inviting attack from all the Clans,” Fireheart insisted.
“He’s right,” agreed Mousefur. “We can’t let the others see our weakness!”
“RiverClan already knows the fire destroyed our camp,” added Willowpelt. “We must show them we are as strong as ever.”
“Then we are agreed?” asked Fireheart. “Longtail, Dustpelt, Frostfur, Brindleface, and Brackenfur will guard the camp. Elders, queens, you will be safe with them, and we shall return as soon as we can.”
He listened to the murmurs and searched the eyes looking up at him. With a wave of relief, he saw heads begin to nod. “Good,” he meowed, and leaped down from the rock.
The warriors and apprentices he had chosen to come with him were already circling at the camp entrance, impatiently flicking their tails. A familiar long-furred white pelt was among them. This would be Cloudpaw’s first Gathering. Fireheart had been looking forward to this moment since the kit had first come to the Clan. He still remembered his own first Gathering, racing down the slope to Fourtrees surrounded by mighty warriors, and he couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment as he looked around at the smoke-stained and hungry cats Cloudpaw would have to follow. And yet Fireheart could feel their excitement and pent-up energy as strong as ever. Sandstorm was kneading the ground with her forepaws, and Mousefur’s eyes shone brightly in the growing darkness as Fireheart hurried across to them.
“Longtail,” he meowed, pausing briefly beside the brown warrior. “You will be senior warrior here. Guard the Clan well.”
Longtail dipped his head to Fireheart. “They’ll be safe, I promise.”
Fireheart’s glow of satisfaction at Longtail’s respectful gesture was soured by the mocking glance Darkstripe threw him from the camp entrance. It was as if the warrior could see through his outer confidence to the uncertainty that lay beneath. Fireheart caught Sandstorm’s eye as he passed her. She was staring at him intently. Bluestar made you her deputy. She’d expect you to know what to do! Her challenging words, which had stung like an adder’s bite before, suddenly strengthened him, and he flashed Darkstripe a look of defiance as he led the way out of the camp.
The cats charged silently through the forest, the burned trees reaching into the darkening sky like twisted claws. Fireheart felt his paws sink into the ash, damp and sticky, but there was a hopeful scent in the air of fresh green shoots sprouting from the cinders.
He glanced backward. Cloudpaw was keeping up well, and Sandstorm was pushing ahead, drawing closer until she ran at his side, matching his pace.
“You spoke well on the Highrock,” she meowed, panting.
“Thanks,” answered Fireheart. He pulled away as they scrambled up a steep mound, but Sandstorm caught up as they reached the top.
“I…I’m sorry about what I said about Bluestar,” she meowed quietly. “I was just worried. The camp is looking great, considering…”
“Considering I’m deputy?” Fireheart suggested sourly.
“Considering it was so badly damaged,” Sandstorm finished. Fireheart’s ears twitched. “Bluestar must be proud of you,” she went on, and Fireheart winced—he doubted if Bluestar had even noticed, but he was grateful for Sandstorm’s words.
“Thanks,” he meowed again. He turned his head as they ran down the other side of the mound and
looked into the warrior’s soft emerald eyes. “I missed you, Sandstorm—” he began.
He was interrupted by the sound of powerful paws drumming behind them, and the voice of Darkstripe growled, “So what are you going to tell the other Clans, then?”
Before Fireheart could answer, a fallen tree loomed ahead. He sprang into the air, but a branch caught his paw and he landed clumsily, stumbling. The other cats raced past him, but they slowed instinctively as Fireheart fell behind.
“Are you okay?” Darkstripe asked as Fireheart caught up to him. The striped warrior’s eyes glinted in the moonlight.
“Yes, fine,” Fireheart answered curtly, trying not to betray the pain in his paw.
It was still throbbing when the cats reached the top of the slope that led down to Fourtrees. Fireheart halted to catch his breath and gather his thoughts before they joined the other Clans. The valley below had been untouched by the fire, and the four oaks towered unscathed into the starry sky.
Fireheart glanced at the cats that waited beside him, tails twitching and ears pricked expectantly. They obviously trusted him to take Bluestar’s place at the Gathering and convince the other Clans that ThunderClan had not been weakened by their recent tragedy. He had to prove himself worthy of that trust. He flicked his tail, signaling to them as he had seen Bluestar signal so many times before, and plunged down toward the Great Rock.
CHAPTER 30
The air in the clearing was heavy with the scent of WindClan and RiverClan. Fireheart felt a tremor of anxiety. In just a few moments he was going to have to stand on the Great Rock and address these cats. There was no sign of ShadowClan. Had the sickness taken such a firm hold that they couldn’t make it to the Gathering? A pang of pity for Whitethroat reminded Fireheart of Tigerclaw, and of the terror in the young warrior’s eyes as the massive cat loomed at the edge of the Thunderpath. Suddenly his paws itched to mount the Great Rock and warn the other Clans about the dark warrior’s presence in the forest.
“Fireheart!” Onewhisker bounded up to Fireheart’s side. He felt a flicker of surprise at Onewhisker’s friendly purr. The last time he had seen a WindClan cat it had been Mudclaw screeching angrily away into the heather. But Onewhisker clearly hadn’t forgotten how Fireheart had brought his Clan back from exile. The two warriors had grown close on that journey, and both cats still valued the bond they had forged.
“Hi, Onewhisker,” Fireheart greeted the brown tabby. “You’d better not let Mudclaw see you talking to me, truce or no truce. We didn’t part on very good terms last time we met.”
“Mudclaw takes pride in defending his territory,” replied Onewhisker, shifting uncomfortably from paw to paw. He’d obviously heard about the two attacks on ThunderClan cats in WindClan territory.
“Maybe,” Fireheart admitted. “But that’s no excuse for turning Bluestar away from Highstones.” He found himself wishing Bluestar had been able to share with StarClan at the Moonstone that day. Things might be very different now if she had received some assurance that her warrior ancestors had not turned against her.
“Tallstar wasn’t happy when he heard about that. Even if you were sheltering Brokentail, it was no excuse—”
“Brokentail was dead by then,” Fireheart interrupted him, regretting his tone when he saw Onewhisker’s ears flicking uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Onewhisker,” he meowed more gently. “It’s good to see you again. How are you?”
“Fine,” answered Onewhisker, looking relieved. “I’m sorry to hear about the fire. I know how bad it is for a Clan to be driven from its home.” His eyes met Fireheart’s sympathetically.
“We’ve returned to our camp and we’ve rebuilt it the best we can. It won’t be long before the forest recovers.” Fireheart tried to sound confident.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Onewhisker meowed. “You know, it’s as if we’ve never been away from our camp now. There have been plenty of kits this greenleaf, and Morningflower’s kit is here as an apprentice—it’s his first Gathering.” Fireheart remembered the tiny wet bundle of fur he had helped to carry through the rain, out of Twoleg territory and back to WindClan’s home. He followed Onewhisker’s gaze across the clearing to a young brown tom. Although small like the rest of his Clan, the apprentice’s muscles were already lean and well developed beneath his short, thick fur.
Fireheart noticed Onewhisker suddenly dip his head. He turned to see Tallstar approaching them. The WindClan leader looked at Fireheart with narrowed eyes. “We’ve been seeing a lot of you lately, Fireheart,” he remarked. “Just because you once led us home doesn’t give you the freedom to wander around our territory.”
“So I’ve been warned,” replied Fireheart. He forced himself to stay calm, keeping his resentment at Bluestar’s treatment out of his voice—after all, the Gathering was held under a truce, and this was a warrior he had learned to respect on their journey together through Twoleg territory. But Fireheart held the black-and-white leader’s gaze and meowed firmly, “However, I must put the needs of my Clan first.”
Tallstar’s eyes glittered back at him; then he gave a tiny nod. “Spoken like a true warrior. Having traveled with you, I wasn’t surprised when Bluestar made you her deputy.” The WindClan leader glanced around the clearing and added, “There are those who thought such a young cat would never carry off such a great responsibility. I was not among them.”
Fireheart was taken aback. He hadn’t expected such a compliment from the leader of WindClan. He stifled a delighted purr, and nodded his thanks.
“Where is Bluestar?” asked Tallstar. “I can’t see her among your cats.” His voice was casual but his eyes betrayed a keen interest.
“She’s not feeling well enough to travel yet,” Fireheart answered lightly.
“Was she injured in the fire?”
“Nothing she won’t recover from,” Fireheart meowed, hoping with all his heart that he was telling the truth.
Beside him, Onewhisker looked up sharply. Fireheart followed his gaze to the slope on the other side of the valley. Three ShadowClan cats were charging into the clearing, Runningnose at the head. Fireheart felt a glimmer of relief as he recognized one of the two warriors behind the gray-and-white medicine cat. It was Littlecloud, clearly recovered from the sickness—thanks to Cinderpelt.
The other Clan cats backed away from the ShadowClan warriors as they skidded to a halt in front of the Great Rock. News of their disease had obviously spread through the forest.
“It’s all right,” Runningnose meowed, panting, as if he could read their minds. “ShadowClan is free of the sickness. I have been sent ahead to tell you to wait before you begin the meeting. ShadowClan’s leader is on his way.”
“What makes Nightstar so late?” called Tallstar from Fireheart’s side.
“Nightstar is dead,” answered Runningnose bluntly.
A stunned ripple spread through the other cats like a breeze through trees, and Fireheart blinked. How could the ShadowClan leader be dead? He had only recently received his nine lives. What a terrible sickness! No wonder Littlecloud and Whitethroat had been so afraid to return to their camp.
“Is Cinderfur coming instead?” Whitestorm called, referring to the ShadowClan deputy.
Runningnose looked at his paws. “Cinderfur was one of the first to die of the sickness.”
“Then who is your new leader?” demanded Crookedstar, emerging from the shadows on the other side of the Great Rock.
Runningnose glanced at the RiverClan leader. “You’ll see for yourselves soon enough,” he promised. “He’ll be here shortly.”
“Excuse me,” Fireheart murmured to Tallstar and Onewhisker. “There is something I must share with Runningnose.”
Fireheart padded to where the ShadowClan medicine cat stood, surrounded by warriors and apprentices, all anxious to discover who ShadowClan’s new leader was. He wondered how the old cat would react to hearing about Yellowfang’s death. Runningnose had seen so much death lately that perhaps it wouldn’t mean much to him anymore,
but Fireheart felt he should break it to him privately, before he made an announcement from the Great Rock. After all, Yellowfang had trained Runningnose when she had been ShadowClan’s medicine cat. The bond between the two cats must once have been very close, if only for the short time before Brokentail drove Yellowfang out of her Clan.
Fireheart signaled with his tail to the ShadowClan medicine cat. Runningnose looked relieved to be leaving the circle of inquiring faces as he followed Fireheart to a quieter spot beneath one of the oaks. “What is it?” he asked.
“Yellowfang’s dead,” Fireheart meowed gently, feeling a fresh thorn of sorrow drive itself into his heart.
Runningnose’s eyes clouded with grief. The gray-and-white tom bowed his head as Fireheart went on: “She died trying to save a Clanmate from the fire. StarClan will honor her bravery.”
Runningnose didn’t reply, just swung his head slowly from side to side. Fireheart felt his own throat tighten with sadness, but he couldn’t afford to let grief overwhelm him here. He touched the tom’s head with his nose and padded quickly away.
The rest of the cats were beginning to weave anxiously around one another, their mews growing louder. “We can’t wait any longer!” Fireheart heard a RiverClan warrior mutter to his neighbor. “The moon will be setting soon.”
“If this new leader is going to be late, that’s his problem,” Mousefur agreed. Fireheart knew the real reason for her keenness to get on with the meeting and return to camp. With Tigerclaw loose in the forest, none of the Clans were safe.
He saw a flash of white fur at the center of the clearing as Tallstar leaped onto the Great Rock. He had obviously decided to start the meeting without ShadowClan’s leader. Crookedstar started toward the rock. Fireheart braced himself, ready for his first Gathering at the head of his Clan, and desperate to warn the other cats about the threat that lurked in the woods.
“Good luck.” Fireheart felt Sandstorm’s breath ruffle his ear fur. He turned and gently touched her warm cheek with his muzzle, knowing that their quarrel had been forgotten. Then he threaded his way through the other cats toward the Great Rock.