The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

“They helped me pull Bluestar out of the river,” Fireheart explained. “And…and she’s their mother.”

Sandstorm froze and her eyes grew huge. “Bluestar? But how-”

Fireheart interrupted her by pressing his muzzle against hers. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he promised. “Right now I have to make sure the Clan is okay.”

While they were speaking, the rest of the Clan had appeared through the gorse tunnel and begun to gather in a ragged circle around Fireheart and Sandstorm. Fireheart spotted Fernpaw and Ashpaw, the two apprentices who had begun the race to lure the dogs away from the camp. “Well done, both of you,” he meowed.

The young cats let out a purr. “We hid in the hazel thicket where you told us, and jumped out as soon as we saw the dogs,” mewed Ashpaw.

“Yes, we knew we had to keep them away from the camp,” Fernpaw put in.

“You were very brave,” Fireheart praised them. Once again he remembered the limp body of Brindleface, the apprentices’ mother, murdered by Tigerstar. “I’m proud of you—and your mother would be proud, too.”

Ashpaw shrank, suddenly looking like a fragile kit. “I was terrified,” he admitted. “If we’d known what the dogs were like, I don’t think we’d have dared to do it.”

“We were all terrified,” Dustpelt meowed as he came up and gave Fernpaw a gentle lick. “I’ve never run so fast in my life. You two did brilliantly.”

Though he praised his own apprentice equally, the warmth in Dustpelt’s gaze was all for Fernpaw. Fireheart managed to hide his amusement. The brown tabby warrior’s affection for her was no secret.

“You did well, too, Dustpelt,” Fireheart meowed. “The Clan owes thanks to all of you.”

Dustpelt held Fireheart’s gaze for a moment before he gave him a little nod of acknowledgment. As he turned away, Fireheart spotted Cloudtail gently guiding Lostface past and stopped them to ask, “Are you okay, Lostface?”

“I’m fine,” the young she-cat replied, though she glanced around nervously with her good eye. “Are you sure none of the dogs got this far?”

“I checked the whole camp myself,” Fireheart told her. “There’s no sign of any dogs.”

“She was very brave at Sunningrocks,” meowed Cloudtail, touching his muzzle to Lostface’s shoulder. “She helped me keep watch from a tree.”

Lostface brightened. “I can’t see as well as I used to, but I can listen, and scent.”

“Well done,” Fireheart meowed. “You too, Cloudtail. I was right to rely on you.”

“They’ve all done well.” That was Cinderpelt’s voice; Fireheart turned to see her limping toward him with Mousefur just behind her. “There was no panic at all, not even when we heard the pack howling.”

“And every cat’s okay?” Fireheart asked anxiously.

“They’re all fine.” The medicine cat’s blue eyes glowed with relief. “Mousefur tore a claw when she was running from the dogs, but that’s all. Come on, Mousefur, I’ll give you something for it.”

As Fireheart watched them go, he realized that Whitestorm had appeared beside him. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry.” Whitestorm’s eyes were full of an guish. “I know you asked me to take care of Bluestar when we were fleeing from the dogs. But she slipped away from Sunningrocks before I realized she’d gone. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

Fireheart narrowed his eyes at the older warrior. For the first time he noticed how exhausted he looked. Although Whitestorm was the senior warrior of ThunderClan, he had always seemed strong and vigorous, his white coat sleek and well-groomed. Now he looked a hundred seasons older than the cat who had left camp that morning.

“That’s ridiculous!” Fireheart insisted. “Even if you had noticed that Bluestar had gone, what could you have done? She was your leader—you couldn’t have made her stay.”

Whitestorm blinked. “I didn’t dare send another cat after her—not with the pack loose. All we could do was sit up in the trees around Sunningrocks and listen to the howling….” A shudder ran through his body. “But I should have done something.”

“You did every thing,” Fireheart told him. “You stayed with the Clan and kept them safe. Bluestar made her own decision in the end. It was the will of StarClan that she died to save us.”

Whitestorm nodded slowly, though his eyes were still troubled as he murmured, “Even though she had lost all faith in StarClan.”

Fireheart was aware of the secret they shared, that in her last moons Bluestar’s mind had begun to give way. Shocked to the core by the discovery of Tigerstar’s treachery, Bluestar had begun to believe that she was at war with her warrior ancestors. Fireheart and Whitestorm, with Cinderpelt’s help, had managed for the most part to keep the knowledge of their leader’s weakness from the rest of the Clan. But Fireheart also knew that Bluestar’s feelings had changed during the last moments of her life.

“No, Whitestorm,” Fireheart replied, thankful that there was some comfort he could offer the gallant old warrior. “She made her peace with StarClan before she died. She knew exactly what she was doing, and why. Her mind was clear again, and her faith was strong.”

Joy tempered the pain in Whitestorm’s eyes, and he bowed his head. Fireheart realized how devastating Bluestar’s death must be for him; they had been friends throughout a long life.

By now the rest of the Clan had crept into the circle around Fireheart. He could see the traces of their terrible experience still in their eyes, along with fear for the future. Swallowing uncomfortably, he realized that it was his duty now to calm those fe

ars.

“Fireheart,” Brackenfur asked hesitantly, “is it true that Bluestar’s dead?”

Fireheart nodded. “Yes, it’s true. She…she died saving me, and all of us.” For a moment he thought his voice would fail completely, and he swallowed hard. “You all know that I was the last cat on the trail to lead the dogs to the gorge. When I was almost at the edge, Tigerstar leaped out at me and held me down so that the pack leader caught up to me. He would have killed me, and the dogs would still be loose in the forest, if it hadn’t been for Bluestar. She threw herself at the dog, right on the edge of the gorge, and…and they both went over.”

He could see a ripple of distress sweeping across his Clan mates, like wind stirring the trees.

“What happened then?” Frostfur asked quietly.

“I went in after her, but I couldn’t save her.” Briefly Fireheart closed his eyes, remembering the churning water and his hopeless struggle to keep his leader afloat. “Mistyfoot and Stonefur from RiverClan came to help me when we had been swept clear of the gorge,” he went on. “Bluestar was alive when we got her out but it was too late. Her ninth life was over, and she left us to join StarClan.”

A yowl of grief came from somewhere among the circle of cats. Fireheart realized that many of the cats had not even been born when Bluestar became leader, and losing her now must feel as if the four great oaks of Fourtrees had been torn up overnight.

He raised his voice, forcing it not to shake. “Bluestar isn’t gone, you know. She’s already watching over us from StarClan…her spirit is here with us now.” Or in her den, he thought privately, sharing tongues with Stonefur and Mistyfoot.

“I would like to see Bluestar now,” meowed Speckletail. “Where is she—in her den?” She turned toward the entrance, flanked by Dappletail and Smallear.

“I’ll come with you,” Frostfur offered, springing to her paws.

Alarm shot through Fireheart. He had hoped to give Mistyfoot and Stonefur as much time as possible with their dead mother, but he suddenly realized that apart from Graystripe and Sandstorm, no cats even knew that the two RiverClan warriors were in the camp.