A Dangerous Path (Warriors 4)

Then he remembered his previous dream, when he had searched for Spottedleaf in the dark and fearful forest and failed to find her.

“Oh, Spottedleaf, come to me now,” he murmured. “I need you. I have to know what StarClan wants me to do.”

Fireheart found himself standing on the border of WindClan territory and looked across the stretch of bare moorland. A stiff breeze rippled over the grass, blowing through his fur. The moor was bounded by an eerie light, hiding the horizon and the land behind Fireheart; he looked back, expecting to see the oaks of Fourtrees, though he could not remember traveling through the forest, but there was nothing there but the pale yellow glow. No cats were in sight.

“Spottedleaf?” he mewed uncertainly.

There was no reply, but he thought he caught a faint trace of the sweet scent that always announced her presence. He stiffened, raising his head and parting his jaws so that he could drink in the beloved smell.

“Spottedleaf!” he repeated. “Please come—I need you so much.”

A sudden warmth crept over him. A soft voice murmured, “I am here, Fireheart.” He sensed that Spottedleaf was somewhere behind him, and that if he turned his head, he would see her. But he could not move. It was as if cold jaws were gripping him, keeping his gaze fixed on the windswept moorland.

As he stood rigid, Fireheart gradually realized that Spottedleaf was not alone. Another scent wafted over him, painful in its familiarity.

“Yellowfang?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

A faint breath stirred his pelt, and he thought he could hear Yellowfang’s rusty purr. “Oh, Yellowfang!” he exclaimed. “I’ve missed you so much. Are you okay? Have you seen how well Cinderpelt is doing?”

The words spilled out of him in his joy at the reunion with his old friend, but there was no reply, though Fireheart thought the purring grew stronger.

Then Spottedleaf’s voice whispered softly into his ear, “I have brought you here for a reason, Fireheart. Look at this place; remember it. This is where a battle will not be fought, and blood will not be spilled.”

“Then tell me how to stop it,” Fireheart pleaded, knowing that she spoke of Bluestar’s planned raid on the WindClan camp.

But there was nothing more, only a gentle sigh that faded and became one with the wind. The paralysis that had gripped Fireheart released him, and he whipped around, but Spottedleaf and Yellowfang had vanished. He drank in the air, desperate for the last trace of their scent, but there was nothing.

“Spottedleaf!” he wailed. “Yellowfang! Don’t go!”

The light began to change, became the ordinary sunlight of a morning in leaf-fall, and instead of the moorland Fireheart saw above him a ragged pattern of branches against the sky, the fire-damaged covering of the warriors’ den. He lay on his side among the moss, panting.

“Fireheart?” An anxious voice came from just beside him and he turned his head to see Sandstorm. She licked the fur around his ear. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—yes, I’m fine.” Fireheart dragged himself into a sitting position and flicked his ears to shake off the clinging moss. “Just a dream, that’s all.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Sandstorm went on. “We didn’t see anything suspicious on the dawn patrol. Mousefur told me what happened at the Gathering. And the pile of fresh-kill is practically all gone. I thought we could go and hunt.”

“I can’t, not just now, Sandstorm. I’ve things to do. But if you could take a patrol out, that would be great.”

Sandstorm gazed at him, the sympathetic look in her eyes fading. “Well, okay, if you’re too busy.” She sounded offended, but Fireheart didn’t know how he could explain. “I’ll get Brindleface and Brackenfur to come.” She rose to her paws and stalked out without looking back at him.

Fireheart licked his paw and rubbed it over his face, clinging to the precious memory of his dream.

A battle will not be fought, and blood will not be spilled, he repeated to himself. Was Spottedleaf trying to tell him not to worry, that somehow StarClan would stop the fighting? Or did she mean that it was up to him to see that no blood was spilled?

Fireheart was tempted to leave it all in the paws of StarClan. What could he do, when his Clan leader had given him her orders? But if he obeyed Bluestar, wouldn’t he be going against the will of StarClan? And even more, against all his instincts of what was right for his Clan?

Fireheart made up his mind. Whatever he had to do, ThunderClan must not fight WindClan.

CHAPTER 12

Fireheart padded swiftly out of the camp, hoping no other cats would see him and ask him where he was going. The warrior code said that a Clan leader’s orders should be obeyed without question. Until now, Fireheart had always accepted that. He had never imagined that he would ever disobey Bluestar, and yet the time had come when he must challenge her orders or watch the destruction of his Clan. The only way he could see of avoiding the battle was for Tallstar and Bluestar to meet together and talk about the evidence of prey-theft in both their territories. Once Bluestar understood that WindClan was suffering in just the same way as ThunderClan, Fireheart was sure she would call off the attack.

He did not know what Bluestar would do to him afterward, if she realized that he had gone to see Tallstar without her permission. He just hoped she would eventually understand it was for the good of her Clan.

At the entrance to the gorse tunnel Fireheart took a last look around at the camp. For a moment he watched Brightpaw, practicing the hunting crouch all by herself outside the apprentice’s den. She crept lightly up on a dead leaf and pounced on it, trapping it with outstretched paws.

“Well done!” Fireheart called.

Brightpaw looked up, her eyes glowing. “Thank you, Fireheart!”

Fireheart nodded to her, then turned and headed through the gorse tunnel. The short meeting had strengthened his resolve, for the eager young apprentice represented all that was important within the Clan. Fireheart knew that he could not let that be destroyed.

By sunhigh, Fireheart was approaching the stream that lay on the route to Fourtrees. He stopped for a moment to rest. In his confusion and anxiety he had not taken time to eat before he left the camp, and a rustle in the undergrowth reminded him of how hungry he was. He dropped into the hunter’s crouch, only to realize a couple of heartbeats later that the sounds were not made by prey. He caught a glimpse of a familiar dark pelt, and breathed in the scent of ThunderClan cats.

Puzzled, Fireheart pressed himself to the ground behind a clump of fern. He hadn’t ordered a patrol in this direction, so why were his Clan cats here now? Then the undergrowth parted and Darkstripe emerged, mewing sharply over his shoulder, “Follow me. Try to keep up, can’t you?”

Two small shapes appeared out of the bracken. Fireheart’s eyes widened in surprise as he recognized Goldenflower’s two kits. Bramblekit bounced into the open, batting at a fallen leaf, while Tawnykit followed more slowly.

“I’m tired. My paws ache,” the little tabby kit complained.

“What, a strong kit like you?” Darkstripe meowed. “Don’t be silly. It’s not far now.”

What isn’t far? Fireheart wondered in alarm. What are you doing out here, and where are you taking these kits? He expected to see Goldenflower with them—surely her kits had never been this far from the nursery before?—but she did not appear.

Bramblekit scampered over to his sister and gave her a nudge. “Come on—it’ll be worth it!” he urged.

Both kits hurried after Darkstripe to a shallow place where they crossed the stream, squealing in fear and excitement as the water swirled around their paws. On the far side of the stream, Darkstripe veered away from the route that led to Fourtrees, and headed instead along a much narrower path that twisted away under the trees. A burst of outrage shook Fireheart. He knew exactly where that path led. Darkstripe was taking the kits toward the border with ShadowClan.

Fireheart had to wait for them to climb the slope beyond the stream b

efore he dared to emerge from the ferns and follow. By the time he caught up they were approaching the border. The strong reek of ShadowClan reached Fireheart, and he saw the kits stop and start sniffing the air.

“Yuck, what’s that?” Tawnykit squealed.

“Is it a fox?” asked Bramblekit.

“No, it’s ShadowClan scent,” Darkstripe replied. “Come on, we’re nearly there.” He led the kits across the border, Tawnykit complaining that she was getting the horrid scent all over her paws.

Growing angrier still, Fireheart slid into the shelter of a hawthorn bush just on the ThunderClan side, where he could watch without being seen.

Close by, Darkstripe had come to a halt. The kits flopped down on the grass, exhausted, only to spring to their paws again a moment later when a clump of bracken rustled and another cat stepped into the open.

The newcomer was Tigerstar. Fireheart froze, though he was hardly surprised. He had guessed that Darkstripe had been hoping to curry favor with Tigerstar by bringing his kits to see him, but the ShadowClan leader’s prompt appearance suggested that this meeting had been arranged all along.

Fireheart wondered if Goldenflower knew about this. She was not here with her kits, so perhaps she didn’t even know that Darkstripe had taken them away. She might just think they had gone missing. She must be frantic, Fireheart thought. He tensed his muscles, ready to leap out and confront Darkstripe, but he stayed in his hiding place and made himself concentrate on what was happening in front of him.

Tigerstar padded forward, the muscles rippling under his dark tabby pelt, until he stood in front of his two kits. For a moment he inspected them, and then bent his head to touch noses, first with Bramblekit and then with Tawnykit. Even though they could never have seen such a massive cat before, both kits stood bravely before him and met his gaze without flinching.