A Dangerous Path

Chapter 8

The sun was rising over the trees as Fireheart and his patrol approached Snakerocks, on the opposite side of the territory to the river. The fire had not reached this far; the undergrowth was still lush and green, though leaves had begun to fall.

“Hold on,” Fireheart meowed to Thornpaw as the apprentice dashed toward the rocks. “Don’t forget there are adders around here.”

Thornpaw skidded to a halt. “Sorry, Fireheart.”

Since Bluestar had refused to make them warriors, Fireheart had made a point of spending time with all the apprentices in turn, including at least one of them in every patrol, in an attempt to show them that the Clan still valued them. Swiftpaw’s scowl suggested that he was resentful of the delay, but Thornpaw did not seem to mind waiting for full warrior status.

Mousefur, Thornpaw’s mentor, padded up to him. “Tell me what you can smell.”

Thornpaw stood with his head raised and jaws parted, drinking in the air. “Mouse!” he mewed almost at once, swiping his tongue around his mouth.

“Yes, but we’re not hunting now,” Mousefur reminded him. “What else?”

“The Thunderpath—over there.” Thornpaw gestured with his tail. “And dog.”

Fireheart, who had been lapping water from a hollow in the ground, pricked up his ears. Tasting the air, he realized that Thornpaw was right. There was a strong scent of dog, and it was fresh.

“That’s odd,” he commented. “Unless the Twolegs were up very early, that scent should be stale. Last night at the latest.”

He remembered Whitestorm’s report of finding trampled undergrowth and scattered pigeon feathers near Snakerocks. The place had smelled of dog then, but that scent would not have survived for this long.

“We’d better take a good look around,” he meowed.

Ordering Thornpaw not to leave his mentor, Fireheart sent the other cats into the trees while he crept closer to the rocks. Before he reached them, he was called back by Mousefur.

“Come and look at this!”

Skirting a bramble thicket, Fireheart joined the brown warrior and looked down into a small, steep-sided clearing. There was a stagnant pool of greenish water at the bottom, choked with fallen leaves. The sharp scent of crushed ferns reached Fireheart’s scent glands, but it was barely noticeable under the overpowering stench of dog. Pigeon feathers were scattered all around, and scraps of fur that might have been squirrel or rabbit. A little way down the slope, Thornpaw sniffed at a pile of dog dung, and recoiled with a snort of disgust.

Fireheart forced himself to take in every detail of the scene. Twoleg dogs didn’t usually stay in the forest long enough to leave this many traces, trampling the undergrowth and scattering the remains of prey until the forest reeked like a fox’s hole. Seeing it with his own eyes made him realize that something was definitely wrong.

“What do you think?” asked Mousefur.

“I don’t know.” Fireheart was reluctant to voice his worries. “It looks as if there might be a dog loose in the forest, free from the Twolegs.”

Was that what those Twolegs had been looking for? he wondered, suddenly remembering the three who had come in the monster when he was hunting in Tallpines with Sandstorm. But that had been a long way from here, on the other side of ThunderClan territory.

“What are we going to do?” Thornpaw piped up, looking unusually serious.

“I’ll report it to Bluestar,” Fireheart decided. “If there is a dog wandering around in our territory, we’ll need to do something about it. Maybe we can lead it away somehow.”

The dog was clearly taking prey that ThunderClan couldn’t spare, and Fireheart didn’t like to think of what might happen if it met one of the Clan warriors face-to-face.

As he turned away from the clearing and led the way back toward the camp, Fireheart could not help feeling that the forest around him had become strangely hostile. He knew every tree and stone, yet there was something in its depths—not quite a scent, nor a sound, more like an echo on the edge of hearing—that he did not understand. Was it just a dog? Or were Bluestar’s fears about to come true after all? Did StarClan have some other disaster in mind for ThunderClan?

The patrol had almost reached the camp when Fireheart scented ThunderClan cats behind him. Turning, he saw Whitestorm, Brightpaw, and Cloudpaw picking their way through the blackened debris on the forest floor. All of them were carrying fresh-kill.

“Good hunting?” Fireheart asked as they caught up with him.

Whitestorm dropped the rabbit he was carrying. “Not bad,” he replied. “But we had to go all the way to Fourtrees to find it.”

“Still, it looks good and fat,” Fireheart meowed approvingly. “Well done,” he added to Brightpaw and Cloudpaw, who were both dragging squirrels.

“We saw something I think you ought to know about,” mewed Whitestorm. “Let’s get back to camp.”

The white warrior picked up his rabbit again and fell in behind Fireheart as he led the way down the ravine. Once they had deposited the fresh-kill on the pile and Fireheart had sent the apprentices off to feed the elders, he took a piece for himself and crouched beside Whitestorm to eat it. Mousefur picked out a blackbird from the heap and came to join them.

“So what did you see?” Fireheart asked, when a few mouthfuls of vole had taken the edge off the hunger in his belly.

He saw Whitestorm’s expression darken and guessed the answer before the white warrior spoke. “More scattered prey,” Whitestorm meowed. “Scraps of rabbit fur. And more dog scent. Not far from Fourtrees this time, near the border with RiverClan.”

“Fresh scent?”

“Yesterday’s, I’d guess.”

Fireheart nodded, anxiety prickling in his paws. Clearly the dog had ranged much farther than he had first thought. Gulping down the last of his vole, he told Whitestorm what his dawn patrol had found that morning.

“The whole place stank,” Mousefur contributed, looking up from her meal. “There’s a dog in our territory, isn’t there, killing our prey?”

“Yes, I think so.” Fireheart turned to Whitestorm. “When you told me about the first lot of scent you found, I hoped that the dog would have gone home by now with its Twolegs. But it obviously hasn’t.”

“We’ll have to get rid of it somehow,” Whitestorm meowed grimly.

“I know. I’m going to report it to Bluestar. She’ll probably want to hold a Clan meeting.”

Leaving Whitestorm and Mousefur, Fireheart padded across the camp toward the Highrock. As sunhigh approached, the life of the camp went on peacefully around him. Ashpaw and Swiftpaw were scuffling outside the apprentices’ den. Near the warriors’ den, Frostfur and Brindleface were sharing tongues, both of them looking half-asleep after taking the watch the previous night. In the center of the clearing Speckletail was signaling with paws and tail to her kit, while Brackenfur looked on. A pang of fear struck deep into Fireheart as he imagined the havoc that the stray dog could create if it found the camp.

He had almost reached Bluestar’s den when Brackenfur got up and bounded across to him. “Fireheart, may I have a word?”

Fireheart paused. “If it’s quick. I have to speak to Bluestar.”

“It’s Speckletail,” Brackenfur explained. “I’m worried about her. She thinks Snowkit should be an apprentice, and she’s trying to mentor him herself. She thinks that if Bluestar sees that he can learn, she’ll have to make him into a warrior.”

Now that Fireheart looked more closely at the mother and her kit, he could see that they weren’t just playing—at least, Speckletail wasn’t. She was showing Snowkit the hunting crouch. Snowkit seemed to be having fun, rolling over and batting at his mother with his paws, but he wasn’t copying her movements with any accuracy.

Fireheart watched them with growing sadness. “It might be for the best.” He sighed after a moment. “If Speckletail realizes for herself that Snowkit can’t learn, it might help her accept that he’ll never be a warrior.”

“Maybe.” Brackenfur didn’t sound convinced. “I’d like to watch them for a bit, anyway, and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Fireheart studied him approvingly. Though Brackenfur had not been a warrior for many moons, he had the serious air of a much older cat. He was ready for an apprentice, and Fireheart was sure he would make a fine mentor—patient and responsible. But not for Snowkit. Fireheart knew that the deaf kit could never have a mentor, would never travel to Gatherings, or know the fierce joy of being a warrior in the service of his Clan.

However, as long as there were no other kits in need of mentors, it wouldn’t hurt to let Brackenfur take an interest in Snowkit. “That’s fine, provided it doesn’t interfere with your warrior duties,” Fireheart mewed. “If you think of anything, let me know. I’ll talk to Cinderpelt again.”

“Thanks, Fireheart,” meowed Brackenfur. He settled himself on the ground, paws tucked neatly under his chest, and went on watching Speckletail and Snowkit.

Fireheart hesitated, feeling sad for the deaf kit and his mother, and for Brackenfur, whose hopes of becoming a mentor would be disappointed this time. Then he turned away to go and find Bluestar.

The Clan leader was lying on her bedding in the far corner of her den. The sunlight did not reach her there, and she looked like a gray shadow. But the remains of a squirrel showed that she had eaten, and as Fireheart paused on the threshold, she was twisting her head around to wash her back. Fireheart felt encouraged by these signs of a normal routine.

He scraped his claws on the ground to draw her attention, and when she turned to look at him he meowed, “Bluestar, may I come in? I’ve something to report.”

“Nothing good, I suppose,” Bluestar mewed sourly. Fireheart flinched at her tone, and the leader seemed to relent. “All right, Fireheart, come in and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“We think there’s a dog loose in the forest.” Fireheart described the first time Whitestorm had discovered the scattered prey near Snakerocks, what his patrol had seen that morning, and the rabbit remains that Whitestorm had found near Fourtrees.

Bluestar sat in silence, staring at the wall, until Fireheart finished. Then her head snapped around to face him. “Near Fourtrees? Where?”

“By the RiverClan border, Whitestorm said.”

Bluestar let out a snarl and dug her claws into the floor of her den. “Yes—I see it all!” she spat. “WindClan have been hunting on our territory.”

Fireheart stared at her. “I’m sorry, Bluestar. I don’t understand.”

“Then you’re a fool!” Bluestar growled. Suddenly she seemed to relax. “No, Fireheart, you are a good and noble warrior. It’s not your fault that you can’t imagine the treachery of others.”

What does she mean? Fireheart thought. Has she forgotten that I was the one who told her about Tigerstar?

His mind spinning, he realized that this wasn’t one of Bluestar’s good days. Her eyes were staring and her fur bristling as if rows of enemies stood in front of her. Perhaps, in her confusion, she thought they were.

“But Bluestar,” Fireheart protested, “everywhere we found the scraps of prey, we scented dog. There’s no reason to think that other Clans are responsible.”

“Mouse-brain!” Bluestar hissed, her tail lashing from side to side. “Dogs don’t behave like that. They come here with their Twolegs, and their Twolegs take them away again. Whoever heard of a dog roaming free in the forest?”

“Just because it hasn’t happened before, doesn’t mean it can’t happen now,” Fireheart meowed desperately. “Why do you believe it was WindClan?”

“Can’t you see?” Bluestar’s voice was taut with fury. “WindClan warriors were hunting rabbits, and the rabbits must have crossed the RiverClan border by Fourtrees. RiverClan’s territory is narrow there. The WindClan cats chased their prey across both borders, onto ThunderClan territory, before they caught it and killed it.” She spoke with absolute certainty, as if she had witnessed it herself. “It’s so obvious, a kit could see it.” Her paws started working again. “Well, WindClan had better watch out!”

Fireheart’s heart lurched. It sounded as if Bluestar were planning to attack WindClan. We can’t bear any more trouble! he thought despairingly. An image popped into his head, of Tigerstar on his way to visit Crookedstar and Leopardfur. With a possible alliance in the air between RiverClan and ShadowClan, the last thing they needed right now was a war with WindClan.

“You may be right, Bluestar,” he admitted diplomatically, “but we shouldn’t blame WindClan without any real proof. It could have been RiverClan, couldn’t it?”

“Nonsense!” Bluestar’s voice was scornful. “The cats of RiverClan would never cross a border in pursuit of prey. They know the warrior code better than that. Have you forgotten how they helped us in the fire? We would all have been burned or drowned if not for RiverClan.”

Yes, and Leopardfur won’t let us forget it in a hurry, Fireheart added silently. He couldn’t help thinking that RiverClan might believe a few rabbits were only the beginning of payment for their help.

Fireheart shook his head to clear it. There was no point in trying to blame RiverClan. He knew what scents he had picked up. A dog was responsible for the scattered prey, and he had to make Bluestar see that. “Bluestar, I really think—” he began.

Bluestar dismissed his words with a sweep of her tail. “No!” she insisted. “It was you, Fireheart, who came to me after the last Gathering and told me how Tallstar welcomed Tigerstar as leader of ShadowClan.”

“Hardly welcomed!” Fireheart tried to protest, but Bluestar ignored him.

“Have you forgotten how WindClan warriors stopped me from traveling to Highstones? And how they attacked you when you brought Cloudpaw home? They show no gratitude, none, for what ThunderClan did for them, when you and Graystripe brought them home from exile! Tallstar is working with StarClan against me! He has allied himself with my greatest enemy, and now he and his warriors invade my territory. He’s a disgrace to the name of warrior; he…” Her eyes were wild and her voice sank to a rough choking, as if she could hardly get the words out.

Thoroughly alarmed, Fireheart started to back out of the den. “Bluestar, don’t,” he begged. “You’ve been ill; this is bad for you. I’m going to fetch Cinderpelt.”

But before he could leave, a loud yowling broke out from the clearing. It was the sound of many cats raising their voices in a terrible screech of fear. Fireheart spun around and raced out of Bluestar’s den.

The center of the clearing was almost deserted, bathed in bright light where the normally leafy cover had been burned away. Cats crouched around the edges in the scant shelter of the charred fern walls. Fireheart caught a glimpse of Goldenflower and Willowpelt pushing their kits into the nursery. Brackenfur was nudging a couple of the elders toward their den, urging them to hurry.

The cats at the edge of the clearing were staring up at the sky, their eyes huge with fear. As he looked upward, Fireheart heard the beating of wings and saw a hawk circling above the trees, its harsh cry drifting on the air. At the same time he realized that one cat had not taken shelter; Snowkit was still tumbling and playing in the middle of the open space.

“Snowkit!” Speckletail yowled desperately.

She was just emerging from behind the nursery, the place where the queens went to make dirt, and she darted toward her kit as soon as she realized what was happening. In the same heartbeat the hawk plunged down toward the clearing. Snowkit screamed as the cruel talons fastened onto his back. The great wings flapped. Fireheart raced forward, but Speckletail was faster still. As the hawk lifted off, she sprang upward and snagged her claws in the white kit’s fur.

For a couple of agonizing moments both cats dangled from the hawk’s claws. Fireheart launched himself into the air, but they were too high. Then the hawk released the kit with one foot and scored its talons across Speckletail’s face. The she-cat lost her grip and fell back, landing heavily on the ground. Without her weight, the hawk mounted rapidly to treetop height and flew off toward Fourtrees. Snowkit’s terrified crying died away.

“No!” Speckletail threw her head back and let out a yowl of pure desperation. “My kit! Oh, my kit!”

Brackenfur dashed past Fireheart, leaping the camp wall at a place where the rebuilding had barely started, and vanished into the forest. Even though Fireheart knew the pursuit was hopeless, he swung around and caught the eye of the nearest cat. “Swiftpaw, go with him.”

Swiftpaw opened his mouth to protest, clearly aware that the pursuit would be hopeless, then closed it again and took off after Brackenfur. The rest of the cats, stunned by shock, gradually crept out into the clearing again and formed a ragged circle around Speckletail.

“He couldn’t hear,” Sandstorm murmured, touching her nose to Fireheart’s cheek. “He couldn’t hear the hawk, and he couldn’t hear us when we tried to warn him.”

“It’s my fault!” Speckletail wailed. “I left him…and now he’s gone. The hawk should have taken me instead!”

Sandstorm moved closer to the tabby queen, pressing herself comfortingly against her side, and Cinderpelt came up and gave her ears a gentle lick. “Come to my den,” she mewed softly. “We’ll look after you. We won’t leave you.”

But Speckletail refused to be comforted. “He’s gone and it’s my fault,” she whimpered.

“It’s not your fault,” meowed Bluestar.

Fireheart turned to see his leader pacing toward them. The broad-shouldered gray she-cat looked strong and determined, more like a warrior than any of the other cats, crushed as they were by the tragedy of Snowkit’s loss.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “Whoever heard of a hawk that dared to swoop down and take a kit from the middle of a camp, with so many other cats around? This is a sign from StarClan. I cannot deny the truth any longer.” Bluestar gazed at her shocked, assembled Clan, and her voice vibrated with anger. “StarClan is at war with ThunderClan!”