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Fireheart was caught off guard by t
he question. “Well, he…he was shocked, of course,” he stammered.
“But he tried to warn us about him, didn’t he?” Bluestar’s voice sounded full of regret. “I remember now. Why didn’t I listen to him?”
Fireheart struggled to find a way to comfort his leader. “Ravenpaw was just an apprentice then. Every cat admired Tigerclaw. He hid his treachery well.”
Bluestar sighed. “I misjudged Tigerclaw and I misjudged Ravenpaw. I owe him an apology.” She looked up at Fireheart with heavy eyes. “Should I invite him back into the Clan?”
Fireheart shook his head. “Ravenpaw wouldn’t want to come back, Bluestar. We left him in Twoleg territory, where Barley lives,” he explained. “He’s happy there. You were right when you told me he would find a life that suited him better outside the Clan.”
“But I was wrong about Cloudpaw,” Bluestar fretted.
Fireheart felt as if the conversation were getting out of control. “I think Clan life will suit him in the end,” he meowed, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “But only you can decide whether we should take him back.”
“Why shouldn’t we?”
“Darkstripe thinks Cloudpaw will be drawn back to his kittypet roots,” Fireheart admitted.
“And what do you think?”
Fireheart took a deep breath. “I think Cloudpaw’s time with the Twolegs has taught him that his heart lies in the forest, just as mine does.”
He was relieved to see Bluestar’s eyes brighten. “Very well. He can stay,” she agreed.
“Thanks, Bluestar.” Fireheart knew he should feel more joyful that Cloudpaw had been accepted back into ThunderClan, but his relief was still tinged with doubt. Cloudpaw had fought well against the WindClan patrol, and seemed genuinely pleased to be back in the camp, but how long would this last? Until he got bored with training? Or fed up with catching his own food?
Bluestar went on thoughtfully, “And we should also tell the Clan that if they see Ravenpaw in our territory, they should welcome him as they would a denmate.”
Fireheart dipped his head gratefully. Ravenpaw had made few friends as an apprentice, mainly due to his paralyzing fear of Tigerclaw, but there was no cause for any cat in ThunderClan to hold a grudge against him. “When will you make the announcement about Cloudpaw?” he asked. It would be good for the Clan to see their leader on the Highrock once more.
“You tell them,” Bluestar ordered. A thorn of disappointment pricked at him. Had Bluestar reached the point where she felt unable to address her own Clan? And even though he itched to tell the other cats that Cloudpaw could stay, Fireheart needed the Clan to be certain it was Bluestar’s decision. She had kept to her den for so long and left so much of the daily running of the camp to Fireheart, how could the cats be sure that she had ordered this? If she made the announcement herself, not even Darkstripe could complain.
Fireheart stood in silence, his mind whirling.
“Is something wrong?” Bluestar narrowed her eyes quizzically.
“Perhaps Darkstripe should tell the others,” Fireheart ventured slowly. “After all, he was the one to object.”
The breath caught in Fireheart’s throat as a glimmer of suspicion momentarily clouded Bluestar’s gaze. “You’re becoming shrewd, Fireheart. You’re right. Darkstripe should be the one to spread the news. Send him to me.”
Fireheart searched her expression, wondering if Bluestar had been unnerved by his cunning or the thought of seeing Darkstripe. But her eyes betrayed nothing as he meowed his farewell and backed out of the den.
Darkstripe had not moved. He sat, waiting for Bluestar’s judgment, while the other cats carried on with their duties as usual. The few who remained around the clearing looked up inquisitively as Fireheart walked away from the Highrock.
Fireheart stared into Darkstripe’s amber eyes, trying not to betray his sense of triumph, and nodded toward Bluestar’s den, signaling with a flick of his tail that the ThunderClan leader wanted to see him. As the striped warrior strode past him, Fireheart padded to the pile of fresh-kill, which was already well stocked even though the sun was still climbing in the sky. The patrols were hunting well, he thought with satisfaction. Tired and hungry, he picked up a squirrel in his jaws. If there was a storm coming, Fireheart thought, he hoped it would break soon.
On the way to the nettle clump, Fireheart made a detour to the apprentices’ den where Cloudpaw sat alone, hungrily gulping down a sparrow.
The white cat looked up and swallowed hastily as Fireheart approached. “What did she say?” For once there was an anxious edge to his mew.
Fireheart dropped his squirrel. “You can stay.”
Cloudpaw broke into a loud purr. “Great,” he mewed. “When are we going out training?”
Fireheart’s weary paws ached at the thought, and he answered, “Not today. I have to rest.”
Cloudpaw looked disappointed.
“Tomorrow,” Fireheart promised with a glimmer of amusement. He couldn’t help feeling cheered by his apprentice’s enthusiasm to get back into the old routines. “By the way,” he went on, “you tell a fine story. You made your little escapade sound like quite an adventure.” Cloudpaw looked awkwardly down at his paws as Fireheart continued, “But as long as you start living by the warrior code, I’ll let the Clan go on believing you were ‘stolen’ by the Twolegs….”
“But I was,” muttered Cloudpaw.
Fireheart stared sternly back at him. “We both know that’s not entirely true. And if I catch you even looking over a Twoleg fence again, I’ll chase you out of the Clan myself!”
“Yes, Fireheart,” mewed Cloudpaw. “I understand.”
Fireheart curled up in his nest the following evening feeling pleased. His training session with Cloudpaw had gone well. For once his apprentice had listened carefully to every instruction, and there was no denying that his fighting techniques were getting better and better. I just hope it lasts, he thought as he drifted into slumber.
The forest weaved its way into his dreams. Tree trunks loomed toward him through the mist, disappearing into clouds as they soared upward. Fireheart called out, but his voice was sucked into the eerie silence. Panic rose in his chest as he searched for familiar landmarks, but the mist was too thick. The trees seemed to crowd in on him, growing closer together than he remembered, their blackened trunks scraping against his fur. He sniffed the air, his fur bristling in alarm at an acrid scent that he recognized but could not name.
Suddenly he felt the softness of another pelt pressing against his own. An achingly familiar scent enveloped him, soothing his fretful mind like a drink of cool water. It was Spottedleaf.
“What’s happening?” Fireheart meowed, but Spottedleaf didn’t reply. Fireheart spun around to face her, but he could barely see her through the mist. He could just make out her amber eyes filled with fear before the sound of Twoleg howling exploded into the silence.
A pair of young Twolegs came running out of the mist, their faces twisted in fear. Fireheart felt Spottedleaf dive away and turned to see her disappear into the fog. Terrified, Fireheart was left alone with the Twolegs rushing toward him, their feet thundering on the forest floor.
He woke with a start. His eyes flashed open and he stared fearfully around the den. Something was wrong. The world of his dreams had invaded his waking world; the acrid scent still filled the air, and a strange, choking mist seeped through the branches. Fireheart leaped to his paws and scrambled out of the den. An orange light shone dimly through the trees. Could it be dawn already?
The smell grew stronger, and with a sense of horror Fireheart knew what it was.
Fire!
CHAPTER 23
“Fire! Wake up!” Fireheart yowled.
Frostfur stumbled out of the warriors’ den, her eyes wide with fear.
“We must leave the camp at once!” Fireheart ordered. “Tell Bluestar the forest is on fire!”
He ran to the elders’ den and called through the branches of the fallen oak, “Fire! G
et out!” Then he raced to where the apprentices were clambering drowsily from their nests. “Leave the camp! Head for the river,” he called. Cloudpaw’s bewildered face stared at him, still dazed by sleep. “Head for the river!” Fireheart repeated urgently.
Frostfur was already helping Bluestar across the shadowy clearing. The leader’s face was a grotesque mask of fear as Frostfur nudged her forward with her nose.
“This way!” Fireheart yowled, beckoning with his tail before rushing to help the white she-cat guide Bluestar toward the entrance. Cats were streaming past on either side of them, their fur bristling.
The forest seemed to roar around them, and above the noise came a hideous two-tone wailing and the frantic barking of Twolegs as they crashed through the forest. Smoke was billowing thickly into the clearing now, and behind it the light of the fire grew ever brighter as it bore down on the camp.
Not till she was outside did Bluestar begin to run, caught in the jostling stream of cats surging up and out of the ravine. “Head for the river,” Fireheart ordered. “Keep an eye on your denmates. Don’t lose sight of one another.” He felt an eerie calm within him, like a pool of icy water, while noise and heat and panic raged outside.
Fireheart darted back to round up Willowpelt’s kits as they struggled after their mother. She was carrying the smallest one in her mouth, her eyes stricken with fear above the bundle that bumped against her forelegs.
“Where’s Goldenflower?” Fireheart demanded.
Willowpelt signaled with her nose, pointing up the ravine. Fireheart nodded, relieved that at least one queen and her kits were safely out of the camp. He called to Longtail, who was already halfway up the rocky slope. As the warrior scrambled back down, Fireheart scooped up another of Willowpelt’s kits and passed it to Mousefur, who had raced up behind him. He picked up the third, and when Longtail reached his side he gave the kit to him. “Stay near Willowpelt!” he ordered, knowing that the queen would keep running only if she knew her kits were safe.
Fireheart stood at the bottom of the ravine and watched the cats scrambling upward. Clouds of smoke swirled across the sky, hiding Silverpelt from view. Was StarClan watching this? he wondered briefly. He lowered his eyes and saw Bluestar’s thick gray pelt reach the top, bundled along by the other cats. Finally he followed, glancing over his shoulder as he scrambled upward to see fire stretching greedy orange tongues into the ravine, ripping through the bone-dry bracken toward the camp.
