The Darkest Hour Page 4

  “I can see that,” Brackenfur meowed, his eyes troubled. “But we can’t watch him forever.”

  “It won’t be forever,” Fireheart assured him. “Just until Darkstripe proves where his loyalties lie—one way or the other.”

  Brackenfur nodded, then slipped silently into the warriors’ den. With no more problems clamoring for his attention, Fireheart was able to cross the clearing to Bluestar’s body. Cinderpelt still sat near her head and Whitestorm was crouched beside her, his head bowed in grief.

  Fireheart dipped his head to the medicine cat. He settled himself beside Bluestar, searching her face for signs of the leader he had loved so much. But her eyes were closed, never again to burn with the fire that had commanded respect from all the Clans. Her spirit had gone to race joyously through the sky with her warrior ancestors’, keeping watch over the forest.

  He felt the soft caress of his leader’s fur and felt a sense of security flood over him, almost as if he were a kit again, curling up close to his mother. For a moment he could almost forget the horror of her dying and the loneliness of his new responsibilities.

  Receive her with honor, Fireheart prayed silently to StarClan, closing his eyes and pressing his nose to Bluestar’s fur. And help me keep her Clan safe.

  CHAPTER 3

  Something was prodding Fireheart in the side. With a muffled mew of protest he opened his eyes to see Cinderpelt stooping over him.

  “You dozed off,” she murmured. “But you’ll have to wake up now. It’s time to bury Bluestar.”

  Fireheart staggered to his paws. He flexed each stiff leg in turn and passed his dry tongue over his lips. He felt as if he had been crouching in the clearing for a moon at least. The sense of comfort he had felt as he slept was replaced by a wave of guilt.

  “Did any cat see?” he muttered to Cinderpelt.

  The medicine cat’s blue eyes glimmered with sympathy. “Only me. Don’t worry about it, Fireheart. No cat would blame you after what happened yesterday.”

  Fireheart glanced around the clearing. The pale light of dawn was just beginning to seep through the trees. A few tail-lengths away the elders had assembled to carry out their duty of bearing Bluestar’s body to the burial place. The rest of the Clan were slowly emerging from their dens, forming two lines between Bluestar’s body and the entrance to the gorse tunnel.

  At a nod from Cinderpelt, the elders took up the body and carried Bluestar between the rows of her grieving warriors. Every cat bowed his head as their leader was borne past.

  “Good-bye, Bluestar,” Fireheart murmured. “I’ll never forget you.” Sharp thorns of pain pierced his heart when he saw the tip of her tail scoring a furrow in the blackened leaves that still lay on the ground after the recent fire.

  When Bluestar had vanished with her escort, the rest of the cats began to disperse. Fireheart checked the camp, noticing with approval that the pile of fresh-kill had been stocked up. All he needed to do was send out the dawn patrol; then he could eat and rest. He felt as if a moon of sleep would not be enough to banish the exhaustion from his paws.

  “Well, Fireheart,” meowed Cinderpelt. “Are you ready?”

  Fireheart turned, puzzled. “Ready?”

  “To go to the Moonstone to receive your nine lives from StarClan.” The tip of Cinderpelt’s tail twitched. “Fireheart, surely you hadn’t forgotten?”

  Fireheart shuffled his paws uneasily. Of course he hadn’t forgotten the ancient ceremony to initiate all new Clan leaders, but somehow he hadn’t realized that it would take place right away. He felt dazed by the speed with which everything was happening, bearing him forward relentlessly like the swift waters of the gorge that had almost drowned him.

  Fear rose in his throat and he had to swallow quickly. No leader ever spoke of the mystic rite, so no other cat, except for the medicine cats, knew what happened there. Fireheart had visited the Moonstone before and watched Bluestar share tongues with StarClan in her sleep. That experience had been awe-inspiring enough. He could not imagine what would happen when he had to lie beside the sacred stone himself and share dreams with his warrior ancestors.

  On top of this, he knew that Highstones, where the Moonstone lay in a cavern far underground, was a whole day’s journey away, and the ritual demanded that he not eat beforehand, not even the strengthening herbs that other cats took for the journey.

  “StarClan will give you strength,” meowed Cinderpelt, as if she had read his thoughts.

  Fireheart muttered in vague agreement. Glancing around, he spotted Whitestorm on his way to the warriors’ den and summoned the older warrior with a flick of his tail.

  “I’ve got to go to Highstones,” he meowed. “Will you take charge of the camp? We’ll need a dawn patrol.”

  “Consider it done,” promised Whitestorm, and added, “StarClan go with you, Fireheart.”

  Fireheart took a last look around the camp as he followed Cinderpelt toward the gorse tunnel. He felt as if he were going on a long journey, farther than he had ever traveled before, where the prospect of return looked doubtful. And in a way he never would return, for the cat who came back would have a new name, new responsibilities, and a new relationship with StarClan.

  As he turned away, a yowl sounded behind him. Graystripe and Sandstorm were racing across the clearing.

  “You weren’t sneaking off without saying good-bye?” Graystripe panted, skidding to a halt.

  Sandstorm said nothing, but she twined her tail with Fireheart’s and pressed close to his side.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Fireheart meowed. “Listen,” he added awkwardly, “I know things will be different now, but I’ll never stop needing you—both of you. No cat ever had such good friends.”

  Graystripe butted him in the shoulder. “We know that, you stupid furball,” he mewed.

  Sandstorm’s green eyes shone as she gazed into Fireheart’s. “We’ll always need you too, Fireheart,” she murmured. “And you’d better not forget that.”

  “Fireheart, come on!” Cinderpelt called from where she was waiting at the entrance to the gorse tunnel. “We have to reach Highstones by nightfall—and remember I can’t move as fast as you.”

  “Coming!” Fireheart gave each of his friends a quick lick before plunging into the gorse tunnel after the medicine cat. His heart felt full of hope as he caught up to her and made his way to the top of the ravine. He might have been leaving his old life behind, but he could take with him everything that was important.

  The sun was up in a clear blue sky and the frost had melted from the grass by the time the two cats reached Fourtrees, where the Gatherings were held between all four Clans every full moon.

  “I hope we don’t meet a WindClan patrol,” Fireheart remarked as they crossed the border onto the high, exposed moorland, leaving the shelter of the forest behind them.

  Not long before, Bluestar had tried to launch an attack on WindClan, accusing them of stealing prey from ThunderClan. Fireheart had disobeyed his leader and risked accusations of treachery to avoid a battle. Although Tallstar, the WindClan leader, had been prepared to make peace, Fireheart could imagine that the WindClan cats might still bear a grudge.

  “They won’t stop us,” Cinderpelt replied calmly.

  “They might try,” Fireheart argued. “I’d rather avoid them altogether.”

  His hopes were dashed as he and Cinderpelt reached the crest of a stretch of moorland and saw a WindClan patrol picking their way through the heather a few foxlengths below. They were downwind, so Fireheart had not detected their scent as a warning.

  The leader of the patrol raised his head, and Fireheart recognized the warrior Tornear. His heart sank when he saw that his old enemy Mudclaw was just behind him, with an apprentice Fireheart didn’t know. He and Cinderpelt waited as the WindClan cats bounded through the heather toward them; there was no point in trying to avoid them now.

  Mudclaw curled his lip in a snarl, but Torn ear dipped his head as he halted in front of Fireheart. “Greeting
s, Fireheart, Cinderpelt,” he meowed. “Why are you here on our territory?”

  “We’re on our way to Highstones,” Cinderpelt replied, taking a step forward.

  Fireheart felt a surge of pride to see the respectful nod the WindClan warrior gave to his medicine cat.

  “No bad news, I hope?” Tornear asked; cats did not usually travel to Highstones unless a crisis in their Clan demanded direct communication with StarClan.

  “The worst,” Cinderpelt meowed steadily. “Bluestar died yesterday.”

  All three WindClan cats bowed their heads; even Mudclaw looked solemn. “She was a great and noble cat,” Tornear meowed at last. “Every Clan will honor her memory.”

  Raising his head again, he turned to Fireheart with a look of curiosity and respect in his eyes. “So you’re to be leader now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “I’m going to receive my nine lives from StarClan.”

  Tornear nodded, his gaze traveling slowly over the warrior’s flame-colored pelt. “You’re young,” he commented. “But something tells me you’ll make a fine leader.”

  “Th-thank you,” Fireheart stammered, taken by surprise.

  Cinderpelt rescued him. “We mustn’t stay,” she meowed. “It’s a long way to Highstones.”

  “Of course.” Tornear stepped back. “We’ll tell Tallstar your news. May StarClan be with you!” he called as the two ThunderClan cats bounded away.

  On the edge of the uplands they paused again and looked down over a very different landscape. Instead of bare hillside broken by outcrops of rock and patches of heather, Fireheart saw a scattering of Twoleg nests among fields and hedgerows. In the distance the Thunderpath cut a swath across the land, while beyond that jagged hills reared up, their barren slopes looking gray and threatening. Fireheart swallowed; that desolate region was where they were heading.

  He realized that Cinderpelt was looking at him with understanding in her blue eyes.

  “Everything’s different,” Fireheart confessed. “You saw those WindClan cats. Even they don’t treat me in the same way anymore.” He knew he could never say these things to anyone except the medicine cat—not even to Sandstorm. “It’s as if every cat expects me to be noble and wise. But I’m not. I’ll make mistakes, just like I did before. Cinderpelt, I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Mouse-brain.” Fireheart was both shocked and comforted by the teasing note in Cinderpelt’s voice. “When you make mistakes—not if, Fireheart, when—I’ll tell you about them, believe me.” More seriously, she added, “And I’ll still be your friend, no matter what. No cat that ever lived was perfect all the time. Bluestar wasn’t! The trick is to learn from your mistakes, and have the courage to be true to your heart.” She turned her head and rasped her tongue over his ear. “You’ll be fine, Fireheart. Now let’s go.”

  Fireheart let her take the lead down the slope and across the Twoleg farmland. The two cats picked their way over the sticky earth of a plowed field and skirted the Twoleg nest where the two loners, Barley and Ravenpaw, lived. Fireheart kept a lookout, but there was no sign of them. He was sorry not to see them, for both cats were good friends to ThunderClan, and Ravenpaw had once trained alongside Fireheart as an apprentice. The distant barking of a dog sent shivers through Fireheart’s fur as he remembered the horror of being chased by the pack.

  Keeping to the shadows of the hedges, they eventually reached the Thunderpath and crouched beside it, their fur ruffled by the wind of monsters racing past them. The strong reek of their fumes flooded Fireheart’s nose and throat, and his eyes stung.

  Cinderpelt braced herself beside him, waiting for a space between the monsters when it would be safe to cross. Fireheart felt anxious for his friend. Her leg had been permanently injured in an accident at the edge of the Thunderpath many moons ago, when she had been his apprentice; the old injury would slow her down.

  “We’ll go together,” he meowed, feeling the familiar guilt that he had not prevented her accident. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Cinderpelt gave a tiny nod; Fireheart guessed she was afraid, but she wouldn’t admit it. A moment later, after a brightly colored monster flashed past, she mewed, “Now!” and limped rapidly out onto the hard black surface.

  Fireheart bounded at her side, forcing himself not to leave her behind even though his heart was hammering and every instinct screamed at him to run across as quickly as he could. He heard the roar of a monster in the distance, but before it arrived he and the medicine cat were safe in the hedgerow on the other side.

  The medicine cat let out a gusty sigh. “Thank StarClan that’s over!”

  Fireheart murmured agreement, though he knew they still had to face the return journey.

  Already the sun was sliding down the sky. The land on this side of the Thunderpath was less familiar to Fireheart, and every sense was alert for danger as they began to climb toward Highstones. But all he could hear was prey scuffling in the scanty grass; the tempting scent flooded his mouth, and he wished he were allowed to stop and hunt.

  As Fireheart and Cinderpelt reached the foot of the final slope, the sun was setting behind the peak. The evening shadows were lengthening and a chill crept over the ground. Above his head, Fireheart could make out a square opening beneath an overhang of stone.

  “We’ve reached Mother mouth,” Cinderpelt meowed. “Let’s rest for a moment.”

  She and Fireheart lay down together on a flat rock while the last of the light died from the sky and the stars of Silverpelt began to appear. The moon flooded all the landscape in a cold, frosty light.

  “It’s time,” mewed Cinderpelt.

  All his misgivings coursed through Fireheart once again, and at first he thought his paws would not carry him. But he rose and began walking forward, the sharp stones biting into his pads, until he stood beneath the arch known to the Clans as Mothermouth.

  A black tunnel yawned into darkness. From his previous visit Fireheart knew that there was no point in straining his eyes to see what lay ahead; the blackness was unbroken all the way to the cavern where the Moonstone lay. As he hesitated, Cinderpelt stepped forward confidently.

  “Follow my scent,” she told him. “I will lead you to the Moonstone. And from now on, until the ritual is over, neither of us must speak.”

  “But I don’t know what to do,” Fireheart protested.

  “When we reach the Moonstone, lie down and press your nose to it.” Her blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “StarClan will send you sleep so you may meet with them in dreams.”

  There was a forest full of questions that Fireheart wanted to ask her, but none whose answers would help him overcome the creeping dread he felt. He bowed his head in silence and followed Cinderpelt as she made her way into the darkness.

  The tunnel sloped steadily downward, and Fireheart soon lost his sense of direction as it wound back and forth. Sometimes the walls were so close together that his fur and whiskers brushed the sides. His heart thumped wildly and he opened his mouth to draw in Cinderpelt’s comforting scent, terrified at the thought that he might lose her.

  At last he realized that he could see Cinderpelt’s ears outlined against a faint light ahead. Other scents began to reach him, and his whiskers twitched in a flow of cold, fresh air. A heartbeat later he rounded a bend in the tunnel and the light grew suddenly stronger. Fireheart narrowed his eyes as he padded forward, sensing that the tunnel had opened out into a cave.

  High above his head, a hole in the roof showed a chink of night sky. A shaft of moonlight shone through it, falling directly onto a rock in the center of the cavern. Fireheart drew in his breath sharply. He had seen the Moonstone once before, but he had forgotten just how startling it was. About three tail-lengths high, tapering toward its top, it reflected the moonlight in its dazzling crystal as if a star had fallen to the earth. The white light lit up the whole cave, turning Cinderpelt’s gray fur to silver.

  She turned toward Fireheart and signaled to him with her tail to take his pla
ce beside the Moonstone.

  Unable to speak, even if he could think of anything to say, Fireheart obeyed. He lay down in front of the stone, settling his head on his paws so that his nose touched the smooth surface. The cold was a shock, so that he almost drew back, and for a moment he blinked at the light of stars sparkling in the depths of the stone.

  Then he closed his eyes, and waited for StarClan to send him to sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  All was darkness and cold. Fireheart had never been so cold. He felt as if every scrap of warmth and life were being sucked out of his body. His legs twitched as painful cramps clutched at them. He imagined that he was made of ice, and if he tried to move he would shatter into a thousand brittle fragments.

  But no dreams came. No sight or sound of StarClan. Only the cold and the darkness. Something must be wrong, Fireheart thought, beginning to panic.

  He dared to open his eyes a narrow slit. At once they flew wide with shock. Instead of the shining Moonstone in a cavern far below the ground, he saw short, well-trodden grass stretching away. Night scents flooded over him, of green, growing things moist with dew. A warm breeze ruffled his fur.

  Scrambling into a sitting position, Fireheart realized he was in the hollow at Fourtrees, near the base of the Great Rock. The towering oaks, in full leaf, rustled over his head, and Silverpelt glittered beyond them in the night sky.

  How did I come here? he wondered. Is this the dream that Cinderpelt promised?

  He raised his head and looked up at the sky. He could not remember its being so clear; Silverpelt looked closer than he had ever seen before, scarcely higher than the topmost branches of the oaks. As Fireheart gazed at it, he realized something that sent the blood thrilling through his veins like liquid fire.

  The stars were moving.

  They swirled before his disbelieving eyes and began to spiral downward, toward the forest, toward Fourtrees, toward him. Fireheart waited, his heart pounding.