A Dangerous Path (5 page)

“Speak to Crookedstar,” he suggested. “Ask him yourself about the kits.”

“And try to stay on the good side of Leopardfur,” added Sandstorm. “Don't let her catch you crossing the ThunderClan border.”

Graystripe flinched. “Maybe you're right. I'd better be getting back. Good-bye, Sandstorm, Fireheart.”

“Try to come to the next Gathering,” Fireheart urged.

Graystripe flicked his tail in acknowledgment and padded off down the slope. Halfway to the river he turned, meowed, “Wait there a moment!” and raced down to the edge of the water. For several heartbeats he sat motionless on a flat stone, gazing down into the shallows.

“Now what's he up to?” Sandstorm muttered.

Before Fireheart could reply, Graystripe's paw darted out. A silver fish shot out of the stream and fell to the bank, where it lay flopping and wriggling. Graystripe finished it off with a single blow of his paw and dragged it back up the slope to where Fireheart and Sandstorm stood watching.

“Here,” he meowed as he dropped it. “I know prey must be scarce since the fire. That should help a bit.”

“Thanks,” meowed Fireheart, and added admiringly, “That was a neat trick back there.”

Graystripe let out a purr of satisfaction. “Mistyfoot showed me how.”

“It's very welcome,” Sandstorm told him. “But if Leopardfur finds out you've been feeding another Clan, she won't be pleased.”

“Leopardfur can go chase her own tail,” Graystripe growled. “If she says anything, I'll remind her how Fireheart and I helped feed RiverClan during the floods last newleaf.”

He turned away and bounded back to the river. Fireheart's heart ached as he watched his friend launch himself into the water and begin swimming strongly for the opposite bank. He would have given anything to have Graystripe back in ThunderClan, but he had to admit it seemed unlikely that the gray warrior could ever be accepted there again.

 

Fireheart struggled to carry the slippery fish as the hunting patrol returned to camp, his mouth watering as the unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. When he entered the camp he saw that the pile of fresh-kill already looked bigger. Cloudpaw and Brightpaw had returned, and were about to go out again with Mousefur and Thornpaw.

“We've fed the elders, Fireheart!” Cloudpaw called over his shoulder as he scampered up the ravine.

“And Cinderpelt?” Fireheart called back.

“Not yet!”

Fireheart watched his young kin dash out of sight and then turned back to the pile of fresh-kill. Perhaps Graystripe's fish would tempt Cinderpelt, he thought. He suspected that the young medicine cat wasn't eating enough, out of grief for Yellowfang, and because she was so busy caring for the
smoke-sick cats and Bluestar.

“Are you hungry, Fireheart?” asked Sandstorm, dropping the last of her catch onto the pile. In the end she had waited to eat until they brought the prey back to camp, and she was eyeing the fresh-kill avidly. “We could eat together, if you like.”

“Okay.” The magpie Fireheart had eaten that morning seemed a long time ago now. “I'll just take this to Cinderpelt.”

“Don't be long,” meowed Sandstorm.

Fireheart gripped the fish in his jaws and walked toward Cinderpelt's den. Before the fire, a lush tunnel of ferns had separated it from the rest of the camp. Now just a few blackened stalks showed above the ground, and Fireheart could clearly see the cleft in the rock that was the entrance to the den.

He stopped outside, dropped the fresh-kill, and called, “Cinderpelt!”

After a moment the young medicine cat poked her head out of the opening. “What? Oh, it's you, Fireheart.”

She padded out of the den to join him. Her fur was ruffled, and her eyes didn't have their usual lively sparkle. Instead she seemed distracted and troubled. Fireheart guessed that her mind was on Yellowfang.

“I'm glad you're here,” she mewed. “There's something I want to tell you.”

“Have something to eat first,” Fireheart urged her. “Look, Graystripe caught a fish for us.”

“Thanks, Fireheart,” Cinderpelt meowed, “but this is urgent. StarClan sent a dream to me last night.”

Something about the way she spoke made Fireheart uneasy. He was still not used to the way that his former apprentice was growing into a true medicine cat, living without a mate or kits of her own, meeting secretly with other medicine cats and united with them through their bond with the warrior spirits of StarClan.

“What was the dream about?” he asked. He had experienced dreams like this more than once, warning him of things that were going to happen. That helped him to imagine, better than most Clan cats, the mixture of awe and bewilderment that Cinderpelt must be feeling now.

“I'm not sure.” Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “I thought I was standing in the forest, and I could hear something large crashing through the trees, but I couldn't see what it was. And I heard voices calling—harsh voices, in a language that wasn't cat. But I could understand what they said….”

Her voice trailed off. She stood gazing into the distance, her eyes clouded, while her front paws kneaded the ground in front of her.

“What did they say?” Fireheart prompted.

Cinderpelt shivered. “It was really strange. They were calling, ‘Pack, pack,' and ‘Kill, kill.'”

Fireheart couldn't help feeling disappointed. He had hoped that a message from StarClan might have given them some hint about how to deal with all his problems—Tigerstar's reappearance, Bluestar's illness, and the aftermath of the fire. “Do you know what it means?” he asked.

Cinderpelt shook her head, a lingering look of horror in
her eyes, as though she faced a huge threat Fireheart could not see. “Not yet. Maybe StarClan will show me more when I've been to Highstones. But it's something bad, Fireheart, I'm sure of it.”

“As if we haven't enough to worry about,” Fireheart muttered. To Cinderpelt, he mewed, “I don't know what I can do, unless we find out more. I need facts. Are you sure that's all the dream told you?”

Her blue eyes still wide with distress, Cinderpelt nodded. Fireheart gave her ear a comforting lick. “Don't worry, Cinderpelt. If it's a warning about ShadowClan, we're already watching out for them. Just tell me the moment you get any more details.”

He jumped as an irritated yowling sounded from behind him. “Fireheart, are you going to be all day?”

Glancing around, he saw that Sandstorm was waiting for him at the entrance to the burned fern tunnel. “I've got to go,” he said to Cinderpelt.

“But—”

“I'll think about it, okay?” Fireheart interrupted her, his rumbling belly urging him to go and join Sandstorm. “Let me know if you have any other dreams.”

Cinderpelt's ears twitched in annoyance. “This is a message from StarClan, Fireheart, not just a root digging into my fur or a tough bit of fresh-kill caught in my throat. It could affect the whole Clan. We need to work out what it means.”

“Well, you'll be better at that than I am,” Fireheart told her, backing away from Cinderpelt's den and tossing the
last words over his shoulder.

Bounding across the clearing toward Sandstorm, he wondered briefly what the dream could have meant. It didn't sound like an attack from another Clan, and he couldn't think of anything else that might be a threat. As he tucked into the vole that Sandstorm had saved for him, he managed to put Cinderpelt's dream out of his mind.

Fireheart's flanks heaved as he fought
for breath, and his cheek stung where claws had raked across it. As he staggered to his feet, Brightpaw took a couple of steps back.

“I haven't hurt you, have I?” the ginger-and-white apprentice asked anxiously.

“No, I'm fine.” Fireheart gasped. “Did Whitestorm show you that move? I never saw it coming. Well done.”

Trying not to limp, he padded across the training hollow to where Swiftpaw, Thornpaw, and Cloudpaw were watching. He had been assessing the apprentices' fighting skills, and they had all held their own against him. They had the makings of formidable warriors.

“I'm glad you're all on my side. I wouldn't want to meet you in battle,” Fireheart meowed. “I've had a word with your mentors, and they think you're ready, so I'm going to ask Bluestar if you can be made warriors.”

Brightpaw, Thornpaw, and Swiftpaw exchanged excited glances. Cloudpaw tried to look nonchalant, but there was a gleam of anticipation in his eyes too.

“Okay,” Fireheart went on. “Hunt on your way back to
camp, and see that the elders and the queens are fed. Then you can eat.”

“If there's anything left,” mewed Swiftpaw.

Fireheart flicked a glance at him. Swiftpaw sometimes picked up discontented rumblings from his mentor, Longtail, who had once been a close ally of Tigerclaw, but on this occasion he seemed to be trying to make a joke. All four young cats sprang up and dashed out of the training hollow. Fireheart heard Brightpaw yowling to Cloudpaw, “Bet I catch more prey than you!”

It seemed a long time since he had been that carefree, Fireheart reflected as he followed more slowly. Under the weight of his responsibilities as deputy, he sometimes felt older than the elders. The Clan was surviving, managing to find food and to rebuild the devastated camp, but all the warriors were overstretched. Fireheart was on his paws from dawn to sunset, and every night he went to his den with tasks still undone.
How long can we go on
? he asked himself.
It'll get harder, not easier, when leaf-bare comes.
Already the few leaves that the fire had left on the trees were turning red and gold. As Fireheart paused at the top of the hollow, he felt a chill breeze ruffle his fur, though the sun shone brightly.

He slipped quietly back into camp and stood for a moment near the entrance, looking around. Darkstripe, who was in charge of the rebuilding, had started to patch the remaining gaps in the branches of the warriors' den. Dustpelt was working with him and the two younger apprentices, Fernpaw and Ashpaw.

On the other side of the camp Fireheart saw Cinderpelt making her way to the elders' den, carrying some herbs in her jaws.

In the center of the clearing, Goldenflower's two kits were playing with Speckletail's kit, while the queens sat watching them near the entrance to the nursery. Willowpelt was there too, carefully guarding her litter, who were much younger, from the rough play of the older kits.

Fireheart's gaze rested on Bramblekit, the bigger of Goldenflower's kits. That strong, muscular body and dark brown pelt were disturbingly familiar; no cat who looked at the kit could doubt that Tigerstar was his father. The thought always made Fireheart uneasy, and he struggled to push it aside. Logically, he knew that he should feel just as suspicious of the kit's sister, Tawnykit, but though she shared the same father, she didn't share the misfortune of looking exactly like him. Fireheart knew it was unfair to blame Bramblekit for his father's crimes.

Yet Fireheart could not banish the memory of the young kit clinging to a branch of a blazing tree, wailing in terror as Fireheart tried to reach him. And he could not forget that while he was rescuing Bramblekit, the fire had trapped Yellowfang in her den. Had he sacrificed Yellowfang to save Tigerstar's son?

Suddenly a shrill squeal came from the group of kits. Bramblekit had bowled over Snowkit and was holding him down on the ground with his claws. The squealing came from the sturdy white kit, who didn't seem to be trying to defend himself.

Fireheart shot forward, barreling into Bramblekit and knocking him away from his victim. “Enough!” he snarled. “What do you think you're doing?”

The dark tabby kit picked himself up, amber eyes glaring with shock and indignation.

“Well?” Fireheart demanded.

Bramblekit shook dust off his fur. “It's nothing, Fireheart. We're only playing.”

“Only playing? Then why was Speckletail's kit crying out like that?”

The glow died from Bramblekit's amber eyes and he shrugged. “How should I know? He can't play properly anyway.”

“Bramblekit!” It was Goldenflower who spoke, coming to stand beside her kit. “How many times do I have to tell you? If somebody squeals, you let go. And don't be so rude to Fireheart. Remember, he's the deputy.”

Bramblekit's eyes flicked to Fireheart and away again. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yes, well, make sure it doesn't happen again,” Fireheart snapped.

Bramblekit padded past him to where Snowkit still crouched on the ground. Speckletail was giving his white fur a brisk lick. “Come on, get up,” she meowed. “You're not hurt.”

“Yeah, come on, Snowkit,” Bramblekit mewed, swiping his tongue over the kit's ear. “I didn't mean it. Come and play, and you can be Clan leader this time.”

Bramblekit's sister, Tawnykit, was sitting a couple of tail-lengths away, her tail curled around her paws. “He's no fun,” she mewed. “He never has any good games.”

“Tawnykit!” Goldenflower cuffed her lightly across one ear. “Don't be so nasty. I don't know what's gotten into the pair of you today.”

Snowkit was still crouched on the ground, and got up only when his mother nudged him to his feet.

“Maybe you should let Cinderpelt check him,” Fireheart advised the pale tabby queen. “Make sure he's not hurt.”

Speckletail swung her head around and glared at her Clan deputy. “There's nothing wrong with my kit!” she growled. “Are you saying that I can't look after him properly?” Turning her back on Fireheart, she herded Snowkit back into the nursery.

“She's very protective of her kit,” Goldenflower explained. “I think it comes of having only the one.” She blinked fondly at her two kits, now scuffling together on the ground.

Fireheart went to sit beside her, feeling uncomfortable about the harsh way he had spoken to Bramblekit. “Have you told them that their father is leader of ShadowClan now?” he asked quietly.

Goldenflower gave him a quick glance. “No, not yet,” she admitted. “They would only boast about it, and then some cat would tell them the rest of the story.”

“Sooner or later they'll find out,” meowed Fireheart.

The ginger queen vigorously washed her chest fur for a few moments. “I've seen the way you look at them,” she
mewed at last. “Especially Bramblekit. It's not his fault that he looks exactly like Tigerstar. But other cats look at him like that too.” Thoughtfully she licked her paw and drew it over her ear. “I want my kits to grow up happy, not feeling guilty because of something that happened before they were born. Maybe there's more hope of that now, if Tigerstar becomes a great leader. Maybe they'll even be proud of him in the end.”

Fireheart twitched his ears uncomfortably, unable to share her optimism.

“They both respect you, you know,” Goldenflower went on. “Especially since you saved Bramblekit from the fire.”

For a moment Fireheart didn't know what to say. He felt guiltier than ever about his hostile feelings toward Bramblekit, yet however hard he tried he could not help seeing the murderous father in the young kit.

“I think
you
should tell them about Tigerstar,” Goldenflower meowed, turning an intense gaze on him. “You're the deputy, after all. They would take it well from you—and I know you would tell them the truth.”

“You…you think I should tell them now?” Fireheart stammered. The way Goldenflower spoke made it sound like a challenge.

“No, not now,” replied Goldenflower calmly. “Not until you're ready. And when you think
they're
ready,” she added. “But don't leave it for too long.”

Fireheart dipped his head. “I will, Goldenflower,” he promised. “And I'll make it as easy for them as I can.”

Before Goldenflower could reply, Bramblekit came skidding
up to his mother with Tawnykit just behind him. “Can we go and see the elders?” he asked, eyes shining. “One-eye promised to tell us some great stories!”

Goldenflower let out an indulgent purr. “Yes, of course,” she meowed. “Take her something from the pile of fresh-kill—that's good manners. And mind that you're back here by sunset.”

“We will!” meowed Tawnykit. She dashed off across the camp, calling over her shoulder, “I'm going to fetch a mouse for One-eye!”

“No, you're not, I am!” Bramblekit yowled, scampering after her.

“Well,” Goldenflower meowed, turning back to Fireheart, “if you can see anything wrong with those kits, tell me what it is, because I can't.”

She got up, obviously not needing an answer, and shook each paw in turn before retreating into the nursery. Fireheart watched her go. Somehow he had managed to make himself unpopular with both Speckletail and Goldenflower; even though Goldenflower trusted him, she clearly found it hard to forgive him for his conflicting feelings about Bramblekit—and he was no nearer to sorting them out.

Sighing, he got to his paws, realizing it was time he sent out the evening patrol. As he turned away from the nursery he caught sight of Brackenfur, who was hovering nearby as if he wanted to speak to him.

“Is there a problem?” he asked the young warrior.

“I don't know,” Brackenfur replied. “It's just that I saw
what happened there, with Speckletail's kit, and—”

“You're not going to tell me I was too hard on Bramblekit, are you?”

“No, Fireheart, of course not. But…well, I think there might be something wrong with Snowkit.”

Fireheart knew that the golden brown tom wouldn't make a fuss about nothing. “Go on,” he urged.

“I've been keeping an eye on him,” Brackenfur explained. He scuffed the ground with his forepaws, an embarrassed look on his face. “I…I sort of hoped Bluestar might choose me to mentor him, and I wanted to get to know him. And I think there's something the matter with him. He doesn't play like the others. He doesn't seem to respond when any cat talks to him. You know kits, Fireheart—noses into everything—but Snowkit's not like that. I think Cinderpelt ought to have a look at him.”

“I suggested that to Speckletail and practically got my ears clawed.”

Brackenfur shrugged. “Maybe Speckletail won't admit there could be anything wrong with her kit.”

Fireheart thought for a moment. Snowkit
did
seem slow and unresponsive compared with the other kits. He was much older than Goldenflower's litter, but nothing like as well developed. “Leave it with me,” he meowed. “I'll have a word with Cinderpelt. She'll find a way of taking a look at the kit without upsetting Speckletail.”

“Thanks, Fireheart.” Brackenfur sounded relieved.

“Meanwhile,” Fireheart mewed, “can you lead the evening
patrol? Ask Mousefur and Brindleface to go with you.”

Brackenfur straightened up. “Sure, Fireheart,” he replied. “I'll go and look for them now.”

He set off across the camp with his tail held high. When he had gone a few fox-lengths, Fireheart called him back. “Oh, and Brackenfur,” he mewed, pleased for once to impart good news, “when Snowkit is ready, I'll speak to Bluestar about letting you mentor him.”

 

Before Fireheart went to find Cinderpelt, he visited Bluestar to tell her about the apprentices' assessment. The Clan leader was seated outside her den in a patch of sunshine, and Fireheart thought hopefully that she might be feeling more like her old self. But her blue eyes looked tired as she blinked at him, and a piece of fresh-kill lay beside her, only half-eaten.

“Well, Fireheart?” she asked as he approached. “What can I do for you?”

“I've got good news, Bluestar.” Fireheart tried to sound cheerful. “I assessed all four of the older apprentices today. They did well. I think it's time they were made into warriors.”

“The older apprentices?” Bluestar's eyes clouded with confusion. “That would be Brackenpaw, and…and Cinderpaw?”

Fireheart's heart sank. Bluestar couldn't even remember which cats were apprentices! “No, Bluestar,” he mewed patiently. “Cloudpaw, Brightpaw, Swiftpaw, and Thornpaw.”

Bluestar shifted a little. “That's who I meant,” she snapped. “And you want them to be warriors? Just…just remind me who their mentors are, will you?”

“I'm Cloudpaw's mentor,” Fireheart began, trying to keep his increasing dismay out of his voice. “The others are Longtail—”

“Longtail,” Bluestar interrupted. “Ah, yes…one of Tigerclaw's friends. Why did we give him an apprentice, when we can't trust him?”