The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

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.

And the cats of StarClan came stalking down the sky. Frost sparkled at their paws and glittered in their eyes. Their pelts were white flame. They carried the scent of ice and fire and the wild places of the night.

Fireheart crouched before them. He could scarcely bear to go on looking, and yet he could not bear to look away. He wanted to absorb this moment into every hair on his pelt so it would be his forever.

After a time that might have lasted a hundred seasons or a single heartbeat, all the cats of StarClan had come down to earth. All around Fireheart the hollow of Fourtrees was lined with their shimmering bodies and blazing eyes. Fireheart crouched in the center, surrounded on all sides. He began to realize that some of the starry cats, those sitting closest to him, were achingly familiar.

Bluestar! Joy pierced him like a thorn in his heart. And Yellowfang! Then he drew in a familiar, sweet scent, and turned his head to see the tortoiseshell fur and gentle face that he had dreamed of so often.

Spottedleaf—oh, Spottedleaf! His beloved medicine cat had come back to him. Fireheart wanted to spring to his paws and yowl his joy to the whole forest, but awe kept him silent, still crouching.

“Welcome, Fireheart.” The sound seemed to belong to all the cats Fireheart had ever known, and yet at the same time it was one clear voice. “Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”

Fireheart glanced around, but he couldn’t see any cat speaking. “Yes,” he replied, forcing his voice not to shake. “I’m ready.”

A golden tabby cat rose to his paws and strode toward him, his head and tail high. Fireheart recognized Lionheart, who had become Bluestar’s deputy when Fireheart was still an apprentice and who had died soon after in a battle with ShadowClan. He had been an old cat when Fireheart knew him, but now he looked young and strong again, his coat shining with pale fire.

“Lionheart!” Fireheart gasped. “Is it really you?”

Lionheart did not reply. When he was close enough, he stooped and touched his nose to Fireheart’s head. It burn e d against him like the hottest flame and the coldest ice. Fireheart’s instinct was to shrink away, but he could not move.

“With this life I give you courage,” Lionheart murmured. “Use it well in defense of your Clan.”

At once a bolt of energy seared through Fireheart like lightning, setting his fur on end and filling his senses with a deafening roar. His eyes grew dark, and his mind filled with a chaotic swirl of battles and hunts, the feeling of claws raking across fur and teeth meeting in the flesh of prey.

The pain ebbed, leaving Fireheart weak and trembling. The darkness faded and he found himself in the unearthly clearing again. If that was one life received, he had eight more to go. How will I bear it? he thought in dismay.

Lionheart was already turning away, moving back to his place in the ranks of StarClan. Another cat rose and came toward Fireheart. At first Fireheart did not recognize him, but then he glimpsed a dark, dappled coat and bushy red tail and realized this must be Redtail. Fireheart had never met the ThunderClan deputy, who was murdered by Tigerstar on the very day Fireheart came to the forest as a kittypet, but he had sought out the truth about his death and used it to prove Tigerstar’s treachery.

Like Lionheart, Redtail bowed his head and touched his nose to Fireheart’s. “With this life I give you justice,” he mewed. “Use it well as you judge the actions of others.”

Once more an agonizing spasm rushed through Fireheart, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from yowling. When he recovered, panting as if he had raced all the way back to camp, he saw Redtail watching him. “Thank you,” the former deputy meowed solemnly. “You revealed the truth when no other cat could.”

Fireheart managed to nod in acknowledgment as Redtail went back to sit beside Lionheart again, and a third cat emerged from the ranks.

This time Fireheart’s jaws dropped open when he recognized the beautiful tabby, her coat glimmering with a silvery sheen. It was Graystripe’s lost love Silverstream, the RiverClan queen who had died bearing his kits. Her paws scarcely skimmed the ground as she bent down to him.

“With this life I give you loyalty to what you know to be right,” she meowed. Fireheart wondered if she was referring to the way he had helped Graystripe to see his forbidden love, trusting to the strength of their relationship even though it went against the warrior code. “Use it well to guide your Clan in times of trouble,” Silverstream urged him.

Fireheart braced himself for another agonizing pang, but this time there was less pain as the new life rushed through him. He was aware of a warm glow of love, and realized dimly that that was what had marked out Silverstream’s life—love for her Clan, for Graystripe, and for the kits she had died to give life to.

“Silverstream!” he whispered as the silver-gray she-cat turned away again. “Don’t go yet. Haven’t you any message for Graystripe?”

But Silverstream said nothing more, only glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes filled with love and sorrow that told Fireheart more than all the words she could ever say.

He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the next life-giving. When he looked up again, a fourth cat was approaching him. This time it was Runningwind, the ThunderClan warrior who had been killed by Tigerstar in a fight near the Thunderpath.

“With this life I give you tireless energy,” he meowed as he bowed his head to touch Fireheart. “Use it well to carry out the duties of a leader.”

As the life coursed through Fireheart he felt as if he were racing through the forest, his paws skimming the ground, his fur flattened by the wind. He knew the exhilaration of the hunt and the sheer joy of speed, and he had the feeling that he could outrun any enemy forever.

His gaze followed Runningwind as he returned to his place. When the fifth cat appeared his heart gave a leap of joy. It was Brindleface, Cloudtail’s foster mother, who had been cruelly slaughtered by Tigerstar to give the dog pack a taste for cat blood.

“With this life I give you protection,” she told him. “Use it well to care for your Clan as a mother cares for her kits.”

Fireheart expected this life to be gentle and loving like Silverstream’s, and he wasn’t ready for the bolt of ferocity that transfixed him. He felt as though all the fury of their ancient ancestors TigerClan and LionClan were pulsing through him, challenging any cat to harm the weaker, faceless shadows that crouched by his paws. Shocked and trembling, Fireheart recognized a mother’s desire to protect her kits, and realized how much Brindleface had loved them all—even Cloudtail, who was not her own.

I must tell him, Fireheart thought as the fury ebbed, before he remembered that he was bound to say nothing to any cat about what he had experienced in the ritual.

Brindleface drew back to sit with the other cats of StarClan again, and another familiar figure took her place. Guilt washed over Fireheart as he recognized Swiftpaw.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he looked into the apprentice’s eyes. “It was my fault you died.”

Angry at Bluestar’s refusal to make him a warrior, and desperate to prove himself, Swiftpaw had gone out to track down whatever was preying on the cats in the forest. The dog pack had killed him, and Fireheart knew he would blame himself for ever for not trying harder to make Bluestar change her mind.

But Swiftpaw showed no anger now. His eyes shone with a wisdom far beyond his age as he touched his nose to Fireheart’s. “With this life I give you mentoring. Use it well to train the young cats of your Clan.”

The life Swiftpaw gave him was a pang of anguish so great Fireheart thought it would stop his heart. It ended in a jolt of pure terror, and a flash of light red as blood. Fireheart knew he was experiencing what Swiftpaw had felt in the last moments of his life.

As it ebbed away, leaving Fireheart gasping, he began to feel lik

e a hollow in the ground as rain falls into it and spills over. He thought that his strength would hardly sustain him to receive lives from the three cats that were still to come.

The first was Yellowfang. The old medicine cat had the same air of obstinate independence and courage that had impressed and frustrated Fireheart in equal measure when she was alive. He remembered the last time he had seen her, dying in her den after the fire. Then she had been in despair, wondering if StarClan would receive her even though she had killed her own son, Brokentail, to put an end to his bloodthirsty plotting. Now the gleam of humor was back in her yellow eyes as she stooped to touch Fireheart.