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“You’re keeping vigil tonight,” Fireheart reminded his former apprentice, trying to sound as if this were like any other warrior naming ceremony. “Remember, you have to stay silent until dawn.”
Cloudtail nodded and padded off to take up a position in the center of the clearing. His head and tail were raised proudly, but Fireheart knew that the ceremony had been shadowed by the jealousy of the other apprentices, and by Bluestar’s transparent loss of faith.
How long could the Clan survive, Fireheart wondered, when their leader no longer honored StarClan?
CHAPTER 19
Next morning, Fireheart watched the dawn patrol leave before going to relieve Cloudtail from his vigil. His injured leg felt stiff, but the bleeding had stopped.
“All quiet?” he meowed. “Do you want to sleep now, or are you up to going hunting? We could go through Tallpines, if you like, and see Princess.”
Cloudtail stretched his jaws in an enormous yawn, but a heartbeat later he had sprung to his paws. “Let’s hunt!”
“Okay,” Fireheart mewed. “We’ll take Sandstorm with us. She has met Princess too.”
Fireheart knew that his closeness to Sandstorm had been trickling away ever since he had stopped the battle with WindClan. He desperately wanted to restore their previous bond, and inviting her to go hunting might be a good way of doing that.
Glancing around to see if she had emerged from the den, he spotted Dustpelt padding toward him, with Fernpaw following. As they drew closer, Fireheart could see that the light brown warrior looked worried.
“There’s something you ought to know,” Dustpelt announced. “Fernpaw, tell Fireheart what you just told me.”
Fernpaw’s head was lowered, and she scuffled in the dust with her front paws. Her hesitation gave Fireheart time to wonder what was troubling her, and why she had chosen to confide in Dustpelt instead of her mentor, Darkstripe.
The second question was answered as Dustpelt bent his head and gave her ear a couple of licks. Fireheart had never seen the prickly young warrior so gentle. “It’s okay,” Dustpelt mewed. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Fireheart won’t be angry with you.” The glare he gave Fireheart, unseen by Fernpaw, said, He’d better not! “Come on, Fernpaw.” Fireheart tried to sound encouraging. “Tell me what is the matter.”
Fernpaw’s green eyes flickered toward him and away again. “It’s Swiftpaw,” she mewed. “He…” She hesitated, this time with a glance at Cloudtail, and then went on: “He was really angry that Bluestar wouldn’t make him into a warrior. Last night he got all us apprentices together in the den. He said we’d never be warriors unless we did something so brave that Bluestar couldn’t go on ignoring us anymore.”
She paused again, and Dustpelt murmured, “Go on.”
“He said we ought to find out who has been killing prey in the forest,” mewed Fernpaw, her voice shaking. “He said you didn’t seem bothered about finding our enemy. He wanted us to go to Snakerocks because that’s where most of the scraps of prey have been found. Swiftpaw thought we might pick up a trail.”
“What a mouse-brained idea!” Cloudtail burst out.
“And what did the rest of the apprentices think about this?” Fireheart asked, shooting a warning glance at Cloudtail and trying to ignore the cold lump of apprehension that was gathering in his belly.
“We didn’t know. We want to be warriors, but we all knew we shouldn’t do something like that without orders, and without at least one warrior with us. In the end, only Swiftpaw and Brightpaw went.”
“Did you see them go when you were on vigil?” Fireheart demanded, turning to look at Cloudtail.
Beginning to look worried, Cloudtail shook his head.
“Swiftpaw said Cloudtail wouldn’t notice a Twoleg monster roaring through the camp,” Fernpaw mumbled. “He and Brightpaw sneaked out through the ferns behind the elders’ den.”
“When was this?” Fireheart demanded.
“I’m not sure—before dawn.” Fernpaw’s voice rose as if she were about to start wailing like a tiny kit. “I didn’t know what to do. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t want to give them away. Only I’ve been feeling worse and worse, and so when I saw Dustpelt, I went to tell him.” She gave the brown tabby warrior a grateful glance, and he pressed his muzzle against her speckled gray flank.
“We’ll have to go after them,” Fireheart decided.
“I’m coming,” Cloudtail meowed instantly, startling Fireheart by the blaze in his blue eyes. “Brightpaw’s out there. If anything’s hurt her, I’ll…I’ll shred it!”
“Okay,” Fireheart agreed, surprised to realize that the young warrior cared so transparently for his former den mate. “Go and fetch a couple more cats to come with us.”
As the new warrior shot off, Dustpelt meowed, “We’ll come too.”
“I don’t want the apprentices involved,” Fireheart replied. “Fernpaw is upset enough as it is. Why don’t you take her hunting? Take Ashpaw and Darkstripe as well. The Clan needs fresh-kill.”
Dustpelt gave him a long look. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Fireheart wondered whether he ought to tell Bluestar what was going on before they left, but he was reluctant to get Swiftpaw into trouble and give the Clan leader another excuse why the young cat shouldn’t become a warrior. If we can fetch them back, Bluestar need never know, he told himself.
Besides, Fireheart didn’t want to waste a single moment. Cloudtail was already returning with Sandstorm and Graystripe hard behind him. Just the cats I’d have chosen, Fireheart thought. He couldn’t ignore the warm feeling at the thought that Graystripe was home again, and they could hunt and fight together as they used to. The gray warrior’s eyes were shining as he fell into his accustomed place at Fireheart’s side. Fireheart wished he could have had Whitestorm, too; he was Brightpaw’s mentor, but he had gone out with the dawn patrol.
Sandstorm looked her usual self, alert and focused on their mission. “Cloudtail told us,” she meowed briskly. “Let’s go.”
Fireheart took the lead out of the camp and up to the top of the ravine. Almost at once he picked up Swiftpaw’s and Brightpaw’s scent leading directly toward Snakerocks. There was no need to spend time trying to track them; all they had to do was get to Snakerocks as soon as possible.
But we’ll be too late, he thought. If they meet whatever’s out there…
He raced through the forest, his paws scattering fallen leaves. The stiffness in his injured leg was forgotten. Graystripe ran close beside him, and Fireheart recognized the comfort of facing danger with his friend by his side once again, even though so much had changed.
As they approached Snakerocks, Fireheart slowed down and signaled with his tail for the other cats to do the same. If they dashed straight in without knowing
what they had to face, they would be no help to the apprentices. They had to treat this threat, whatever it was, like any other enemy. But something inside Fireheart screamed that it was unpredictable, far beyond the reach of any Clan code, and that he was in more danger than he had ever been in before. Was this how mice and rabbits felt, he wondered, knowing that death could be stalking through the undergrowth?
Everything was still. Fireheart did not want to risk calling to the apprentices in case he alerted whatever was lurking up ahead. Swiftpaw must be right, he realized; this was the center of the darkness that had poisoned the forest, but he began to doubt his theories about what the threat was. Could one dog really cause so much destruction and fear in the forest?
As cautiously as if he were stalking prey, Fireheart slid through the undergrowth until the smooth, sand-colored sides of Snakerocks came into sight. For a few heartbeats he stood and tasted the air. A mixture of scents reached him: Swiftpaw’s and Brightpaw’s, still fresh; the staler scent of other ThunderClan cats; dog, as Fireheart had expected; but over it all the stench of newly spilled blood.
Sandstorm turned to look at him, her eyes huge with fear. “Something terrible has happened.”
Terror coursed through Fireheart. He was about to confront the source of the fear that had stalked him for more than a moon, the faceless enemy that had invaded their forest. He was barely able to make himself go on.
With a twitch of his tail he gestured for his companions to move forward again; now they crept with their bellies close to the ground, intent on seeing without being seen, until the rocks were only a few fox-lengths away.
A fallen tree barred their way. Scrambling onto the trunk, Fireheart looked out over an open space carpeted with dead leaves. Foul-tasting bile rose into his throat as he took in the scene in front of him. The leaves had been churned up by massive paws, and clots of earth sprayed upward to catch in the branches of the tree. In the middle of the clearing Swiftpaw’s black-and-white body lay motionless, and just beyond him, Brightpaw.
