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“What if another monster comes?” asked Graystripe, voicing Fireheart’s fear.
“We will keep to the side,” Bluestar replied calmly. “You saw how slowly that monster was moving. Maybe they don’t like getting their paws wet.”
Fireheart saw that Graystripe still looked doubtful. He shared his friend’s worries, but there was no point in protesting any more. Tigerclaw would just berate them for being cowards.
“Bluestar, wait,” called Whitestorm as the Clan leader waded into the water. “Remember how low our territory is on the other side of this stream? I can’t help thinking it will be flooded there, too. I don’t think we’ll get to Fourtrees without going onto ShadowClan territory, which is higher.”
A cat close to Fireheart let out a faint hiss, and Fireheart felt another pang of fear. A band of warriors setting paw across the border of a Clan with which they had recently battled? If a patrol caught them, they would think it was an invasion.
Bluestar paused with water lapping over her paws, and looked back at Whitestorm. “Maybe,” she acknowledged, “but we’ll have to risk it, if it’s the only way.”
She set off again without giving her cats any time to protest. There was nothing to do but follow. Fireheart splashed along the edge of the Thunderpath just behind Whitestorm. Tigerclaw brought up the rear to keep a lookout for monsters coming up from behind.
At first everything was quiet, except for a single monster traveling in the other direction on the opposite side of the Thunderpath. Then Fireheart heard the familiar growling and the splash of an approaching monster.
“Look out!” Tigerclaw yowled from the end of the line.
Fireheart froze, pressing himself against the low wall that edged the Thunderpath as it crossed the stream. Darkstripe scrambled on top of it and crouched there, baring his teeth at the monster as it passed. For a moment its strange, glittering colors were reflected in the stinking water, and a wave washed out from it, soaking Fireheart as far as his belly fur.
Then it was gone, and Fireheart could breathe again.
As they reached the other side of the stream Fireheart could see that Whitestorm was right. The low-lying land on the ThunderClan side was covered with water. There was nothing to do but continue along the edge of the Thunderpath until the land rose and was dry enough to walk on.
Stepping thankfully off the paw-achingly hard Thunderpath, Fireheart raised his head and opened his jaws. A strong, rank stench filled his scent glands—the scent of ShadowClan! They had followed the Thunderpath out of ThunderClan territory, and now a swath of ShadowClan land lay between them and the Gathering at Fourtrees.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Willowpelt murmured uneasily.
If Bluestar heard the comment, she ignored it, quickening the pace until they were racing across the sodden turf. There were few trees here, and the close-cropped grass offered no cover for trespassing cats. Fireheart’s heart was beating fast, and not only from the speed of their journey. If ShadowClan cats caught them, they would be in trouble, but Fourtrees was not far away, and their luck might hold.
Then he caught sight of a dark shadow streaking over the ground ahead of them, on a course to intercept Bluestar at the head of her patrol. More shadows followed, and a furious yowling split the quiet of the night.
For a heartbeat Bluestar quickened her pace, as if she thought she could outrun the challengers. Then she slowed to a stop. Her warriors did the same. Fireheart stood panting; the shadows drew closer, and he saw that they were ShadowClan cats, headed by their leader, Nightstar.
“Bluestar!” he spat as he halted in front of the ThunderClan leader. “Why have you brought your cats onto ShadowClan land?”
“In these floods, it was the only way to reach Fourtrees,” Bluestar replied, her voice low and steady. “We mean no harm, Nightstar. You know there’s a truce for the Gathering.”
Nightstar hissed, his ears flattened against his head and his fur bristling. “The truce holds at Fourtrees,” he snarled. “There is no truce here.”
Instinctively, Fireheart dropped into a defensive crouch. The ShadowClan cats—apprentices and elders as well as warriors—slipped silently into a semicircle around the smaller band from ThunderClan. Like Nightstar, their coats were bristling and their tails lashed in anger. Their hostile eyes reflected the cold light of the moon. Fireheart knew that if it came to a fight, ThunderClan was hopelessly outnumbered.
“Nightstar, I’m sorry,” meowed Bluestar. “We would never trespass on your territory without good reason. Please let us pass.”
Her words did nothing to appease the ShadowClan cats. Cinderfur, the ShadowClan deputy, moved up beside his leader, a dim shape in the moonlight. “I think they’re here to spy,” he growled softly.
“Spy?” Tigerclaw shouldered his way forward to stand next to Bluestar, his head thrust out toward Cinderfur until their noses were less than a mouse-length apart. “What can we spy on here? We’re nowhere near your camp.”
Cinderfur curled back his lip to reveal thorn-sharp teeth. “Give us the word, Nightstar, and we’ll tear them apart.”
“You can try,” growled Tigerclaw.
For a few heartbeats Nightstar was silent. Fireheart’s muscles tensed. Beside him, Graystripe growled low in his throat. Mousefur bared her teeth at the nearest ShadowClan warrior, and Sandstorm’s pale golden eyes shone with readiness to fight.
“Keep back,” Nightstar grunted at last to his warriors. “We’ll let them pass. I want ThunderClan cats at the Gathering.” Though his words were friendly, he hissed them through bared teeth. Suddenly suspicious, Fireheart whispered to Graystripe, “What does he mean by that?”
Graystripe shrugged. “Dunno. We’ve seen nothing of ShadowClan since the floods started. Who knows what they’re up to?”
“We’ll even give you an escort,” Nightstar went on, narrowing his eyes. “Just to make sure you get to Fourtrees safely. We wouldn’t want ThunderClan to be scared off by an angry mouse, would we?”
A murmur of agreement rose from the ShadowClan warriors. They shifted so that they surrounded the ThunderClan cats on all sides. With a faint nod, Nightstar set off beside Bluestar. The other cats followed, the ShadowClan patrol matching ThunderClan step for step.
ThunderClan headed for the Gathering completely encircled by their enemies.
The moon was at its height as Fireheart and the other ThunderClan cats were herded into the hollow beneath the four oak trees. A fierce, cold light poured down over the members of RiverClan and WindClan who were already assembled. All of them turned to stare curiously at the group descending the slope. Fireheart knew that he and the rest of his Clan must look like prisoners. He stalked along proudly, head and tail held high, defying any cat to say that they had been beaten.
To his relief, the ShadowClan cats slipped away into the shadows as soon as they reached the hollow. Bluestar headed straight for the Great Rock with Tigerclaw at her side. Fireheart looked around for Graystripe, and found that his friend had already disappeared; a moment later he caught sight of him approaching Silverstream, but the silver tabby was surrounded by other RiverClan cats, and Graystripe could only hover nearby, looking frustrated.
Fireheart suppressed a sigh. He knew how much Graystripe must be longing to see Silverstream again, especially now she was expecting kits, but there was a huge risk in meeting at a Gathering, where any cat could catch them together.
“What’s up with you?” Mousefur made him jump. “You look as if you’ve got something on your mind.”
Fireheart stared at the brown warrior. “I…I was thinking about what Nightstar said,” he improvised rapidly. “Why did he say he wants ThunderClan cats here?”
“Well, I’m sure of one thing. He’s not being kind and helpful,” Sandstorm mewed, coming up with Willowpelt beside her. She licked one paw and drew it over her ear. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Trouble’s coming,” Willowpelt meowed over one shoulder as she went to join a group of WindClan
queens. “I can feel it in my paws.”
Uneasier than ever, Fireheart padded back and forth under the trees, listening with one ear to the cats around him. Most of them were sharing harmless gossip, catching up on news from other Clans, and he heard nothing about what ShadowClan were planning. He noticed, though, that all the ShadowClan cats he passed glared at him, still fiercely hostile. And he caught one or two of them glancing up at the Great Rock as if they were impatient for the meeting to start.
At last a yowling sounded from the top of the rock, and the murmuring from the cats below died away. Fireheart found a place at the edge of the hollow where he had a good view of the four Clan leaders, their silhouettes black against the sky.
Sandstorm settled herself beside him, crouching with her paws tucked under her chest. “Now for it,” she whispered expectantly.
Nightstar stepped forward, stiff-legged with barely suppressed fury. “Cats of all Clans, listen to me!” he demanded. “Listen, and remember. Until last greenleaf, Brokenstar was leader of ShadowClan. He was—”
Tallstar, the leader of WindClan, stepped forward to stand beside Nightstar. “Why do you speak that hated name?” he growled. His eyes flashed, and Fireheart knew he was remembering how Brokenstar and his warriors had driven WindClan out of their territory.
