The Darkest Hour (13 page)

“Firestar,” meowed Graystripe. “I want to
ask you something.”

Firestar was crouching by the nettle patch. He had just seen Brackenfur leaving at the head of the evening patrol, and now he was eating his share of fresh-kill before rounding up a patrol of his own for an extra check on the ShadowClan border.

“Sure,” he replied. “What is it?”

Graystripe crouched beside him, but before he could speak Tawnypaw came stalking out of the elders' den, her head and her tail held high as she headed for the gorse tunnel. Her amber eyes blazed with anger. Bramblepaw emerged behind her, his jaws clamped on a bundle of bedding moss. He looked worried.

“Tawnypaw!” Firestar called. “What's the matter?”

For a heartbeat he thought the apprentice was going to ignore him. Then she veered sharply to stand in front of him. “Smallear!” she spat. “If ever a cat asked to have his fur clawed off—”

“You shouldn't talk like that about an elder,” Firestar rebuked her. “Smallear's given good service to the Clan and we should respect that.”

“What about a bit of respect for me?” Tawnypaw was so furious she seemed to have forgotten she was talking to her leader. “Just because I was a little late going to clear out the old bedding, Smallear said that Tigerstar had never wanted to serve the elders either, and he could see I was going to turn out just like my father.” She scraped her claws on the sandy floor of the clearing as if she were picturing the old tom's fur. “It's not the first time he's said things, either. I don't see why I should have to put up with it!”

While she was speaking, Bramblepaw had come to join them, putting down the moss he was carrying. “You know Smallear's joints are aching because of the cold weather,” he meowed.

“You're not my mentor!” Tawnypaw flared up at her brother. “Don't tell me what to do.”

“Calm down, Tawnypaw,” Firestar mewed. He wanted to reassure her that no cat believed she would end up a murderer and traitor like her father, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. “You're doing very well as an apprentice, and you're going to make a great warrior. Sooner or later the Clan will see that.”

“That's what I've been telling her,” Bramblepaw meowed, and added to his sister, “We've got to live down what Tigerstar did. That's the only way the Clan will believe in our loyalty.”

“Some cats believe in it already,” Graystripe put in, and Bramblepaw flashed him a grateful glance.

The worst of Tawnypaw's fury was fading, though her amber eyes still burned. With a toss of her head she turned
away, flinging her parting words over her shoulder as she stalked toward the gorse tunnel. “I'm going to fetch some fresh moss.”

“I'm sorry, Firestar,” Bramblepaw murmured when she had gone. “But Tawnypaw's right to be upset.”

“I know,” Firestar reassured him. “If I can catch Smallear at a good moment, I'll have a word with him.”

“Thanks, Firestar.” Bramblepaw dipped his head in gratitude, picked up his moss, and hurried after his sister.

Firestar gazed worriedly after the two apprentices. He must talk to Smallear, he decided, and soon. Constantly taunting the young cats about their parent age was not the way to en sure their loyalty to ThunderClan.

Realising that Graystripe was still waiting patiently beside him, he mewed, “Okay, tell me what's on your mind.”

“It's my kits,” Graystripe confessed. “Ever since the Gathering, I can't get them out of my mind. Mistyfoot and Stonefur weren't there, so I couldn't ask them for news, but now that Tigerstar has essentially taken over RiverClan, I'm sure my kits are in danger.”

Firestar took a bite of vole and chewed thoughtfully. “I don't see why they should be at risk more than any other cat,” he replied, swallowing his mouthful. “Tigerstar will want to look after all the apprentices to guarantee a strong fighting force.”

Graystripe didn't look reassured. “But Tigerstar knows who their father is,” he pointed out. “He hates me, and I'm worried that he'll take it out on Featherpaw and Stormpaw.”

Firestar realized that Graystripe had a fair point about Tigerstar's hostility. “What would you like to do?”

Graystripe blinked nervously. “I want you to come with me across the river and bring them back to ThunderClan.”

Firestar stared at his friend. “Are you completely mouse-brained? You're asking your Clan leader to stroll into RiverClan territory and steal a couple of apprentices?”

Graystripe scraped his forepaw on the ground. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“How else would you put it?” Firestar tried to control his shock, but Graystripe's suggestion was too close to Brokentail's old crime of stealing kits. If Firestar agreed and RiverClan found out about it, they would be justified in attacking ThunderClan. And with ShadowClan to help them, that was a risk Firestar couldn't take.

“I knew you wouldn't listen.” Graystripe turned and began to retreat, his tail drooping.

“I
am
listening. Graystripe, come back and let's think about this.” As Graystripe stopped, Firestar went on: “You don't
know
that Featherpaw and Stormpaw are in danger. And they're apprentices now, not kits. They have the right to decide their own future. What if they want to stay in RiverClan?”

“I know.” Graystripe sounded despairing. “Don't worry, Firestar. I understand there's nothing you can do to help.”

“I didn't say that.” Against all his better judgment, Firestar knew he couldn't stand by and do nothing to help his friend. Graystripe pricked his ears, half-hopeful, as Firestar went on: “Suppose we go over there quietly, just the two of us, and
check on them? If they're okay, then you won't need to worry any more. If they're not, I'll tell them there's a place for them in ThunderClan, if that's what they choose.”

Graystripe's yellow eyes had begun to glow as Firestar spoke. “That's great!” he meowed. “Thanks, Firestar. Can we go now?”

“If you like. Let me finish this vole first. You find Whitestorm and tell him he's in charge of the camp. But don't tell him where we're going,” he added quickly.

Graystripe bounded off to the warriors' den while Firestar swallowed the last few gulps of vole and swiped his tongue over his mouth. By the time he had finished, Graystripe had reappeared and the two friends headed for the mouth of the gorse tunnel.

Reaching it, however, they stopped short as a familiar black shape slipped into the clearing.

“Ravenpaw!” Firestar exclaimed happily. “It's good to see you.”

“It's good to see
you
,” Ravenpaw responded, touching noses in greeting with Firestar and then with Graystripe. “Graystripe, I haven't seen you in moons! How are you?”

“I'm fine. It's easy to see you're doing well,” he added, eyeing Ravenpaw's glossy black pelt.

“I came to pay my respects to Bluestar,” Ravenpaw explained. “You remember, Firestar, you said I could.”

“Yes, of course.” Firestar glanced at Graystripe, whose paws were working urgently in his haste to be off. “Ravenpaw, can you go and find Cinderpelt? She'll show you the place
where Bluestar is buried. Graystripe and I are just off on a mission.”

“That sounds like the old days!” meowed Ravenpaw, half enviously. “What is it this time?”

“We're going over to RiverClan to check on my kits,” Graystripe told him in a rush. “I'm worried about them, now that Tigerstar is taking over.”

Ravenpaw's shocked look reminded Firestar that he knew nothing of the recent developments in the forest. Rapidly he told the black cat what Tigerstar had announced at the last Gathering.

“But that's a disaster!” Ravenpaw hissed when he had finished. “Is there anything I can do to help? I could come with you.”

His eyes were gleaming. Firestar guessed Ravenpaw was excited by the prospect of adventure. How different he was now from the nervous apprentice he had once been, bullied by his fierce mentor, Tigerclaw!

“All right,” he meowed, trusting his instincts that it would be good to have Ravenpaw with them. “We'll be glad to have you.”

As he bounded through the forest, his two oldest friends by his side, Firestar felt his mind flood with memories of how they had trained and hunted together as apprentices. For a short time he could almost imagine that those days had returned, that he had shed his responsibilities like falling leaves and was young and carefree again.

But he knew that this was impossible. He was Clan leader
now, and he could never escape from his duty to the cats who depended on him.

 

The sun had gone down by the time that Firestar and his friends reached the edge of the forest. Warning Graystripe and Ravenpaw to stay back, Firestar crept through the undergrowth until he could look out over the river.

In front of him lay the stepping-stones, the easiest route into RiverClan territory. As Firestar peered at the cold, gray water, he caught a strong scent of cats—RiverClan and ShadowClan mixed. A patrol was making its way along the opposite bank. They were too far away for Firestar to be sure which cats they were, but he could not see the blue-gray pelts of Mistyfoot and Stonefur.

He felt a pang of disappointment. If either of their friends had been near the border, Graystripe could have asked them for news and the matter could have ended there. Now they would have to go right into RiverClan territory.

Firestar knew he was risking everything on slipping in and slipping out again quietly, unobserved. If it was ever found out that a Clan leader had trespassed on another Clan's territory, he would be in trouble. But he knew that he had to do it for Graystripe.

The gray warrior had crept up beside him. “What's the matter?” he whispered. “Why are we waiting here?”

Firestar angled his ears toward the patrol. A moment later they disappeared into a reed bed and their scent slowly faded.

“Okay, let's go,” Firestar meowed.

Leading the way, he leaped from one stepping-stone to another across the black, swiftly flowing water. He thought back to the floods of last leaf-bare, when he and Graystripe had almost drowned saving the lives of two of Mistyfoot's kits. Leopardstar had conveniently forgotten that now, Firestar realized, as well as how the two ThunderClan warriors had helped the starving cats of RiverClan by taking them fresh-kill from their own hunting grounds.

But there was no point in thinking about that now. Reaching the far bank, Firestar slid into the shelter of a clump of reeds and checked once again that no enemy cats were near. All he could scent was the traces of the patrol, steadily growing fainter.

Treading softly, he made his way upriver toward the RiverClan camp. Graystripe and Ravenpaw followed, silent as shadows.

Suddenly a new scent drifted on the breeze. Firestar paused, his whiskers twitching. His eyes widened as he recognized the reek of carrion, crowfood that had rotted for days until its foul stench poisoned the air.

“Ugh! What's that?” growled Ravenpaw, forgetting the need for silence.

Firestar swallowed the bile that rose into his throat. “I don't know. I'd say it was a foxhole, but there's no scent of fox.”

“It stinks, whatever it is,” Graystripe muttered. “Come on, Firestar, we need to keep going before some cat catches us.”

“No,” Firestar meowed. “I know you're worried about your kits, Graystripe, but this is too strange. We have to investigate.”

A few tail-lengths ahead, a tiny stream flowed sluggishly into the main river. Firestar turned to follow it through more reeds. The stench grew stronger, and beneath the smell of crowfood he began to pick up the scent of many cats, a mixture of ShadowClan and RiverClan like the patrol. He halted and signaled for his friends to do the same as he began to make out noises from somewhere ahead: movement in the reeds and the voices of cats mingling together.

“What
is
this?” Graystripe whispered. “We're nowhere near the camp.”

Firestar flicked the tip of his tail for silence. At least the stench would mask their ThunderClan scent and make it easier for them to stay hidden.

More cautiously than ever Firestar crept on again until the reeds began to thin out and he came to the edge of a clearing. Flattening himself against the damp ground he crawled as far forward as he dared and looked out.

At once he had to clamp his teeth hard to keep back a yowl of shock and anger. The stream ran along one side of the clearing, its near-stagnant waters clogged by the remains of fresh-kill carelessly flung there and left to rot. Cats crouched on the bank, tearing at prey. But that was not what had roused Firestar's fury.

Opposite his hiding place, on the far side of the clearing was a vast hill of bones. They gleamed like stripped branches in the last of the watery daylight, some tiny shrew bones hardly bigger than teeth, others as big as the leg bone of a fox or a badger.

Icy trembling seized Firestar's body. For a heartbeat he thought he was back in his dream at Fourtrees. He remembered the blood that had come oozing out of that hill of bones, and longed to flee in terror. But this was far worse than the dream because Firestar knew that it was happening now, in the real world. And crouched on top of the pile, his fur black against the sun-bleached remains, was Tigerstar, leader of the new united Clan.

Firestar forced himself to stay hidden. He had to find out what Tigerstar was doing. Graystripe and Ravenpaw crept forward to crouch beside him. Ravenpaw's fur bristled, and Graystripe looked as if he were going to be sick.

After the first shock ebbed, Firestar examined the scene more closely. The hill was made up of only prey bones, not mixed with cat bones like the one in his dream. On one side of it stood the ShadowClan deputy, Blackfoot. On the other side was Leopardstar. Her gaze flicked nervously back and forth across the clearing. Firestar wondered if she regretted what had happened to her Clan, and he guessed that her ambition to make her Clan strong had blinded her to Tigerstar's real nature. But whatever the former RiverClan leader felt, it was too late for her to go back now.