The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

Most of all, Fireheart recalled his dismay and disbelief as he crouched beside his leader on the riverbank, and realized that she had sacrificed her last life to save him and all of ThunderClan from the dog pack.

As he bore Bluestar’s body home, with the help of Mistyfoot and Stonefur, he kept pausing to scent the air for fresh traces of dog, and he had already sent his friend Graystripe to scout the territory on either side of their trail, searching for signs that the dogs had caught any of the ThunderClan cats in their desperate race for the gorge. So far, to Fireheart’s relief, they had found nothing.

Now, skirting a bramble thicket, Fireheart set down his lifeless leader once more and raised his head to drink in the air, thankful to taste only the clean scents of the forest. A moment later, Graystripe appeared around a clump of dead bracken.

“Everything’s fine, Fireheart,” he reported. “Plenty of broken undergrowth, but that’s all.”

“Good,” Fireheart meowed. His hope rose that the dogs that had escaped the fall into the gorge had fled in terror, and the forest once again belonged to the four Clans of wild cats. His Clan had lived through three terrible moons, w h en they had become prey in their own territory, but they had survived. “Let’s keep going. I want to check that the camp is safe before the Clan comes back.”

He and the RiverClan warriors took up Bluestar’s body again and carried it through the trees. At the top of the ravine that led down to the camp entrance, Firestar paused. He briefly remembered the early morning, when he and his warriors had followed the trail of dead rabbits that Tigerstar had laid to lure the dog pack to the ThunderClan camp. At the end of the trail they had found the body of the gentle queen Brindleface, slaughtered to give the savage dogs a taste for cat blood. But now every thing seemed peaceful, and when Fireheart tasted the air again he could detect only cat scent coming from the camp.

“Wait here,” he meowed. “I’m going to take a look.”

“I’ll come with you,” Graystripe offered instantly.

“No.” It was Stonefur who spoke, flicking out his tail to bar the gray warrior’s way. “I think Fireheart needs to do this alone.”

Flashing a grateful look at the RiverClan deputy, Fireheart began picking his way down the ravine, his ears pricked for any sound of trouble ahead. But the strange silence still reigned over the forest.

As he emerged from the gorse tunnel into the clearing, Fireheart paused to glance warily around. It was possible that one or more of the dogs had never made it to the gorge, or that Tigerstar had sent ShadowClan warriors to take over the camp. But all was quiet. Fireheart’s fur prickled with the strangeness of seeing the camp deserted like this, yet there was no sign of danger, and still no scent of dogs or ShadowClan.

To be sure the camp was safe, he rapidly checked the den s and the nursery. Memories came unbidden: the be wilderment of the Clan as he told then about the dog pack, the heart-pounding terror of the chase through the forest with the breath of the pack leader hot on his fur. At the foot of the Highrock, listening to the wind whispering through the trees, Fireheart thought back to the time Tigerstar had stood her e, boldly facing his Clan as they discovered the true depth of his treachery. He had sworn undying vengeance as he was sent into exile, and Fireheart was sure that his blood thirsty attempt to set the dog pack on the cats of ThunderClan would not be his last attempt to fulfill his oath.

Last of all Fireheart prowled cautiously through the fern tunnel to Cinderpelt’s den. Glancing through the entrance, he saw the medicine cat’s healing herbs neatly ranged beside one wall. The strongest memory yet flooded over him, of Spottedleaf and Yellowfang, who had been ThunderClan medicine cats before Cinderpelt. Fireheart had loved them both, and grief for them swept over him again to mingle with his grief for his leader.

Bluestar is dead, he told them silently. Is she with you now, in StarClan?

Retracing his steps along the fern tunnel, he returned to the top of the ravine. Graystripe was standing on watch while Mistyfoot and Stonefur gently groomed the dead leader’s body.

“Everything’s fine,” Fireheart announced. “Graystripe, I want you to go to Sunningrocks now. Tell the Clan that Bluestar is dead, but nothing more. I’ll explain every thing when I see them. Just let them know that it’s safe to come home.”

Graystripe’s yellow eyes brightened. “On my way, Fireheart.” He spun around and tore off through the forest, heading for Sunningrocks, where the Clan had gone to hide while the dogs w ere following Tigerstar’s trail of rabbit blood to their camp.

Stonefur, crouching beside Bluestar’s body, let out a purr of amusement. “It’s easy to see where Graystripe’s loyalties lie,” he remarked.

“Yes,” Mistyfoot agreed. “No cat ever really thought he would stay in RiverClan.”

Graystripe’s kits had been born to a RiverClan queen, and for a while he had gone to RiverClan to be with them, but in his heart he had never left ThunderClan. Forced into battle against his birth Clan, he had chosen to save Fireheart’s life, and the RiverClan leader Leopardstar had banished him from her Clan. Her sentence of exile, Fireheart reflected, had freed the gray warrior to return to where he truly belonged.

With a nod of acknowledgment to the RiverClan warriors, Fireheart took up Bluestar again, and the three cats maneuvered her body down the ravine and into the camp. At last they could lay her down in her den beneath the Highrock, where she would remain until her Clan had said farewell to her and buried her with all the honor that such a wise and noble leader deserved.

“Thank you for your help,” Fireheart meowed to the RiverClan warriors. Hesitating for a moment, knowing only too well the significance of his invitation, he added, “Would you like to stay for Bluestar’s burial ceremony?”

“That is a generous offer,” Stonefur replied, showing only a flicker of surprise that Fireheart should admit members of a rival Clan to something so private. “But we have duties in our own Clan. We must be getting back.”

“Thank you, Fireheart,” meowed Mistyfoot. “That means a lot to us. But your Clan will think it’s strange if we stay. They don’t know, do they, that Bluestar was our mother?”

“No,” Fireheart told her. “Only Graystripe. But Tigerstar overheard what you and Bluestar said to each other on…on the riverbank. You must be prepared in case he chooses to reveal it at the next Gathering.”

Stonefur and Mistyfoot exchanged a glance. Then Stonefur drew himself up, his blue eyes gleaming defiantly. “Let Tigerstar say what he likes,” he meowed. “I’ll tell RiverClan myself today. We’re not ashamed of our mother. She was a noble leader—and our father was a great deputy.”

“Yes,” Mistyfoot agreed. “No cat can argue with that, even if they did come from different Clans.”

Their courage and determination reminded Fireheart of their mother, Bluestar. She had given them up to their father, Oakheart, the RiverClan deputy, and the two cats had grown up believing that they had been born in RiverClan. At first they had hated Bluestar when they learned the truth, but this morning, as she lay dying on the riverbank, they had found it in their hearts to forgive her. In the midst of his pain, Fireheart was relieved beyond words that his leader had been reconciled with her kits before she went to StarClan. He alone of all the ThunderClan cats knew how much Bluestar had suffered, watching them grow up in another Clan.

“I wish we’d known her better,” Stonefur meowed sadly, as if he could read Fireheart’s thoughts. “You’re lucky to have grown up in her Clan and been her deputy.”

“I know.” Fireheart looked down sorrowfully at the blue-gray she-cat lying so still on the sandy floor of the clearing. Bluestar looked small and helpless now that her noble spirit had left her body and gone to hunt with StarClan.

“May we say good-bye to her alone?” Mistyfoot asked tentatively. “Just for a few moments?”

“Of course,” Fireheart replied. He padded out of the den, leaving Stonefur and Mistyfoot to crouch down beside Bluestar’s body and share tongues wit

h their mother for the first and last time.

As he skirted the Highrock he heard the sound of cats approaching through the gorse tunnel. Hurrying forward, he saw Frostfur and Speckletail creep timidly into the clearing, hesitating in the shelter of the tunnel before they dared venture back into the camp. With the same wariness, Brackenfur and Goldenflower followed.

Pain stabbed Fireheart’s heart to see his cats so wary of their own home, and his eyes sought out one warrior in particular—Sandstorm, the pale ginger she-cat he loved. He needed to know that she was unhurt after the crucial part she had played in luring the dog pack away from the camp.

Fireheart spotted his nephew, Cloudtail; the white warrior was carefully escorting Lostface, a young cat who had suffered terrible injuries from the dog pack before they attacked the camp. Next Cinderpelt came limping through the entrance with a bundle of herbs in her mouth; and pushing eagerly behind her were Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, the two newest apprentices, who were also Tigerstar’s kits.

At last Fireheart saw Sandstorm padding along beside Willowpelt, while Willowpelt’s three kits bounced around them, happily unaware of the crisis their Clan had endured.

A purr swelled in Fireheart’s throat as he ran toward Sandstorm and pressed his muzzle into her flank. The pale orange warrior covered his ears with licks, and when he looked up at her he saw a warm glow in her green eyes.

“I was so worried for you, Fireheart,” she murmured. “I couldn’t believe the size of those dogs! I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“Nor have I,” Fireheart confessed. “All the time I was waiting, I kept thinking they might have caught you.”

“Caught me?” Sandstorm pushed away from him; the end of her tail was twitching, and for a heartbeat Fireheart thought he had offended her, until he saw the sparkle in her eyes. “I was running for you and the Clan, Fireheart. It felt as if I had the speed of StarClan!”

She paced into the center of the clearing and looked around, her expression clouding. “Where is Bluestar? Graystripe told us she was dead.”

“Yes,” Fireheart replied. “I tried to save her, but the struggle in the river was too much for her. She’s in her d en.” He hesitated before adding, “Mistyfoot and St o n e f u r are with her.”

Sandstorm turned to him, her fur bristling with alarm. “There are RiverClan cats in our camp? Why?”