The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

“With this life I give you compassion,” she announced. “Use it well for the elders of your Clan, and the sick, and all those weaker than yourself.”

This time, even knowing the pain he would have to bear, Fireheart closed his eyes and drank in the life hungrily, wanting all of Yellowfang’s spirit, all her courage and her loyalty to the Clan that was not hers by birth. He received it like a tide of light surging through him: her humor, her sharp tongue, her warm heartedness, and her sense of honor. He felt closer to her than ever before.

“Oh, Yellowfang…” Fireheart whispered, his eyes blinking open again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The medicine cat was already moving away. The cat who took her place was younger, stepping lightly, the sparkle of s tars in her fur and in her eyes: Spottedleaf, the beautiful tortoise shell who had been Fireheart’s first love. She had come to him in dreams, but he had never seen her as plainly as this since she had been alive. He breathed in her sweet scent as she bent over him. This cat, more than any, was the one with whom he wanted to speak, because the time they had had together had been too short to let them s h are their true feelings.

“Spottedleaf…”

“With this life I give you love,” she murmured in her soft voice. “Use it well, for all the cats in your care—and especially for Sandstorm.”

There was no pain in the life that poured into Fireheart now. It held the warmth of the high sun in greenleaf, burning to the tips of his paws. It was pure love; at the same time he experienced the sense of security he had known as a tiny kit, nuzzling his mother. He gazed up at Spottedleaf, wrapped in a contentment he had never known before.

He thought he caught a proud gleam in her eyes as she turned away, and his disappointment that she had not stayed to talk to him was mixed with relief that she approved of his new choice. Now he had no reason to fear that he was being unfaithful to Spottedleaf in his love for Sandstorm.

At last Bluestar approached Fireheart. She was not the old, defeated cat Fireheart had known recently, her mind giving way under the stress of her Clan’s troubles. This was Bluestar at the height of her strength and power, prowling toward him across the clearing like a lion. Fireheart was almost dazzled by the glory of starlight around her, but he forced himself to meet her blue gaze squarely.

“Welcome, Fireheart, my apprentice, my warrior, and my deputy,” she greeted him. “I always knew you would make a great leader one day.”

As Fireheart bowed his head, Bluestar touched him with her nose and went on; “With this life I give you nobility and certainty and faith. Use it well as you lead your Clan in the ways of StarClan and the warrior code.”

The warmth of Spottedleaf’s life had lulled Fireheart, and he was unprepared for the agony that shook him as he received Bluestar’s. He shared the fierceness of her ambition, the anguish she had suffered when she gave up her kits, the ferocity of battle after battle in the service of her Clan. He felt her terror as her mind fragmented and she lost her trust in StarClan. The rush of power grew stronger and stronger, until Fireheart thought his pelt would never contain it. Just as he thought he must yowl his pain or die, it began to ebb, ending in a sense of calm acceptance and joy.

A long, soft sigh passed through the clearing. All the StarClan warriors had risen to their paws. Bluestar stayed in the center of the clearing and signaled with her tail that Fireheart should rise too. He obeyed her shakily, feeling as if the fullness of life inside him would spill over when he moved. His body felt as battered as if he had fought the hardest battle of his life, and yet his spirit soared with the strength of the lives he had been granted.

“I hail you by your new name, Firestar,” Bluestar announced. “Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants to you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

“Firestar! Firestar!” Just as the forest Clans would acclaim a new warrior by name, so the cats of StarClan acclaimed Firestar, in rich voices that tingled in the air. “Firestar! Firestar!”

Suddenly the chanting broke off with a startled hiss. Firestar tensed, aware that something was wrong. Bluestar’s glowing eyes were fixed on something behind him. He spun around and let out a choking cry.

A massive hill of bones had appeared at the other side of the clearing, many tail-lengths high. It shone with an unnatural light, so that Firestar could see each separate bone edged as if with fire—the bones of cats and the bones of prey, all jumbled together. A hot wind swept over him, bearing the reek of carrion, even though the bones gleamed white and clean.

Firestar gazed wildly around him, seeking help or answers from the other cats. But the clearing was dark. The cats of StarClan had vanished, leaving him alone with the terrible hill of bones. As Firestar felt panic welling up inside him, he sensed the familiar presence of Bluestar by his side, warm fur pressed against his flank. He could not see her in the darkness, but her voice whispered in his ear.

“Something terrible is coming, Firestar. Four will become two. Lion and tiger will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest.”

Her scent and the warmth of her fur faded away as she finished speaking.

“Wait!” Firestar yowled. “Don’t leave me! Tell me what you mean!”

But there was no reply, no explanation of the dreadful p r o p h e c y. Instead, the red light that gleamed from the hill of bones glowed brighter. Firestar stared at it in horror. Blood had begun to ooze out between the bones. The trickles merged into a river that flowed steadily toward him, until the stench of blood clung to his fur. He tried to flee, and found his paws were fixed in place. A heartbeat later, the sticky red tide was washing around him, gurgling and reeking of death.

“No!” Firestar yowled, but there was no response from the forest, just the steady whisper of blood lapping hungrily at his fur.

CHAPTER 5

Firestar jolted awake in terror. He was lying in the cavern beneath Highstones with his nose pressed against the Moonstone. The shaft of moonlight had vanished, and only the faintest glimmer of starshine lit the cave. But there was no relief in waking up, for the stench of blood was still all around him and his fur felt hot and sticky.

Heart thudding wildly, Firestar scrambled to his paws. Across the cave he could just make out Cinderpelt. She had risen too, and was signaling urgently to him with her tail. Firestar’s first impulse was to pour out to her all that he had seen, but he remembered her instructions to keep silent until they had left Mother mouth. Paws skidding on the cave floor in his haste, he pushed past the medicine cat and bolted into the tunnel.

As he stumbled upward toward the open air, following his own scent trail along the dark passage, the way seemed twice as long as before. Firestar’s fur scraped against the tunnel walls and he was filled with horror at the thought of being buried alive. The air felt too thick to breathe, and as his panic grew in the unbroken blackness of the tunnel he began to imagine that it would never end, that he would be trapped for ever in blood and darkness.

Then he saw the pale outline of the tunnel entrance, and burst out into the still night air, where the moon was sinking behind thin clouds. Firestar dug his claws into the loose earth of the hillside while shudders passed through his body from nose to t

ail.

A few moments later, Cinderpelt emerged behind him and pressed herself against his side until he managed to control his dreadful shivering and his breathing steadied.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t you know?”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “I know that the ritual was interrupted—the scent of blood told me that. But I don’t know why.” She looked deep into his eyes; her own were burning with concern. “Tell me…did you receive your nine lives and your name?”

Firestar nodded, and the medicine cat relaxed slightly. “Then the rest can wait. Let’s go.”

For a moment Firestar felt too exhausted to move. But he did not want to stay anywhere near Mothermouth and the terrible things that he had seen in the cave. Shakily, pawstep by pawstep, he began to descend the hill. Cinderpelt padded beside him, sometimes nudging him toward an easier route, and Firestar was grateful for her unquestioning presence.

As they drew farther away from the tunnel, the stench of blood faded from his mouth and nostrils. Still, Firestar felt that even if he washed for a moon he would never get rid of the last traces from his fur. He began to feel stronger, but he was still very tired, and as soon as the rocky hillside gave way to grass he flopped down in the shelter of a hawthorn bush.

“I’ve got to rest,” he meowed.

Cinderpelt tucked herself into the grass beside him and for a few moments the two cats shared tongues in silence. Firestar wanted to tell the medicine cat what he had seen, but something kept him silent. Partly he wanted to protect her from the dreadful fear he had felt—even if she could explain what Bluestar’s prophecy meant, would it help to have another cat look forward to the future with the dread that he now felt? And partly he hoped that if he never spoke of the dreadful vision, it might not come true. Or was there a curse on his leadership that nothing could avert? Bluestar had told him before she died that he was the fire who would save the Clan. How could that be true, if the fire was quenched by the tidal wave of blood he had just seen? Firestar had experienced prophetic dreams before, and he had learned to take them seriously. He could not ignore this, especially when it came at such a significant moment, while he was receiving his nine lives and his new name.