A Dangerous Path

Chapter 11

The sun was rising over the trees as Fireheart emerged from the warriors’ den. Shaking a scrap of dead leaf from his fur, he took a deep breath of the crisp air and extended his forelegs in a long stretch.

After the previous night’s Gathering, he was almost surprised to see life in the camp going on as usual: Ashpaw and Cloudpaw were busily patching the outer wall with twigs; Goldenflower and Willowpelt were watching their kits just outside the nursery, where Brightpaw had stopped to play with them; and Whitestorm was padding into the clearing with his jaws full of fresh-kill. Fireheart could sense tension in the air, but so far none of his fears of attack seemed to have come to anything.

He looked around for Sandstorm, who had led the dawn patrol, but she didn’t seem to be back yet. She had not been among the cats who had gone to the Gathering, and Fireheart desperately wanted to talk to her about what had happened.

“Fireheart!”

The voice was Bluestar’s. Fireheart swung around to see his leader trotting across the clearing from her den.

“Yes, Bluestar, what is it?”

Bluestar jerked her head. “Come to my den. We need to talk.”

As Fireheart followed her he noticed her jerky steps and twitching tail. She looked like a cat about to launch herself into battle, yet there was no enemy in sight.

Reaching her den, the blue-gray she-cat padded across to her bedding and sat there facing Fireheart. “You heard that hypocrite Tallstar last night,” she hissed. “He refused to admit that his cats have been stealing our prey. So there’s only one thing for ThunderClan to do. We must attack!”

Fireheart stared at her, jaws gaping. “But, Bluestar,” he stammered, “we can’t do that! Our Clan isn’t strong enough.” He couldn’t help remembering that they would have had four extra warriors by now if Bluestar had agreed to promote the apprentices, but he didn’t dare mention that to her. “We can’t afford to have warriors injured or maybe killed.”

Bluestar fixed her eyes on him in a look of fierce hostility. “Are you saying that ThunderClan is too weak to defend itself?”

“Defending ourselves is very different from launching an attack,” Fireheart meowed desperately. “Besides, there’s no real proof that WindClan stole—”

Bluestar bared her teeth. Her fur bristled as she rose to her paws and took a threatening step toward Fireheart. “Are you questioning me?” she snarled.

With an effort, Fireheart stood his ground. “I don’t want needless bloodshed,” he told her quietly. “All the signs tell us that there’s a dog loose in the forest, and that’s what has been taking the rabbits.”

“And I tell you that dogs don’t wander alone! They come and go with their Twolegs.”

“Then where did the dog scent come from?”

“Silence!” Bluestar lashed out with one paw, barely missing Fireheart’s nose. He forced himself to stand still. “We will travel tonight and attack WindClan at dawn.”

Fireheart’s heart lurched. It was an honor for a warrior to fight for his Clan, but never before had he been faced with such an unjust battle. He did not want to shed ThunderClan or WindClan blood for no good reason.

“Did you hear me, Fireheart?” Bluestar demanded. “You will choose the warriors and give them their orders. They must be ready by moonset.” Her eyes were blue flames; Fireheart almost felt they could sear him to ash, just as the fire had destroyed the forest.

“Yes, Bluestar, but—” he began.

“Are you afraid of WindClan?” the old leader spat. “Or are you so used to cringing before StarClan that you won’t defy them and fight for the rights of your Clan?” She paced to one side of her den, spun around, and paced back again, thrusting out her muzzle toward her deputy. “You disappoint me, you, out of all my warriors. How can I believe you will fight with all your strength when you question my order like this?” she hissed. “You leave me no choice, Fireheart. I will lead this attack myself.”

Objections raced through Fireheart’s mind. Bluestar was growing old and losing strength; she was on her last life; she wasn’t thinking clearly. But in the face of her fury he could voice none of them. Instead he dipped his head respectfully. “If you wish, Bluestar.”

“Then go and do as I ordered.” She kept that fiery gaze trained on him as he backed out of the den. “You will come with us, but remember that I will be watching you,” she growled after him.

In the clearing outside, Fireheart shivered as if he had just dragged himself out of icy water. His duty was to choose the warriors for the attack on WindClan, and tell them what Bluestar had ordered so that they would be ready to leave after moonset. Yet every hair on his pelt protested against this. A dog had stolen the rabbits, not WindClan. It could not be the will of StarClan to attack an innocent Clan! Bluestar was simply wrong.

Fireheart found that his paws were taking him to Cinderpelt’s den. Perhaps she could advise him. The medicine cat’s wisdom and her special bond with StarClan might help her to see the way forward more clearly than he could. But when he reached Cinderpelt’s clearing and called out to her, there was no reply. Fireheart stuck his head a little way into the cleft in the rock and saw that the den was empty, except for the neat piles of herbs stacked along one side.

As he pushed his way out of the fern tunnel, not sure what to do now, he caught sight of Thornpaw padding past with a load of moss for the elders’ bedding. The apprentice dropped his burden when he saw the deputy and meowed, “Cinderpelt’s out collecting herbs, Fireheart.”

“Where?” Fireheart asked. If she was near the camp, he could go and find her.

But Thornpaw shrugged. “Dunno, sorry.” He picked up the moss and went on.

Fireheart stood motionless for a few moments, his head spinning with fear and confusion. He could not ask any of the other cats for advice, because a deputy should never question his leader’s orders. He could not even talk to Sandstorm, much as he wanted to, because she was bound by the warrior code to obey her leader. There was only one hope left.

Slowly he padded back to the warriors’ den, meeting Brindleface on her way out. “I’m going to catch up on some sleep,” he explained in answer to her inquiring look. “I want to be fit for a night patrol.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what was really planned for that night.

Brindleface’s eyes softened with sympathy. “You do look a bit tired,” she meowed. “You’re working too hard, Fireheart.”

She gave his ear a quick lick and padded off toward the pile of fresh-kill. To Fireheart’s relief, no other cats were inside the den, and he did not have to answer any more questions as he curled himself deeply into the moss and fern. If he could just sleep for a while, he might be able to meet with Spottedleaf and ask for her guidance.

Then he remembered his previous dream, when he had searched for Spottedleaf in the dark and fearful forest and failed to find her.

“Oh, Spottedleaf, come to me now,” he murmured. “I need you. I have to know what StarClan wants me to do.”

Fireheart found himself standing on the border of WindClan territory and looked across the stretch of bare moorland. A stiff breeze rippled over the grass, blowing through his fur. The moor was bounded by an eerie light, hiding the horizon and the land behind Fireheart; he looked back, expecting to see the oaks of Fourtrees, though he could not remember traveling through the forest, but there was nothing there but the pale yellow glow. No cats were in sight.

“Spottedleaf?” he mewed uncertainly.

There was no reply, but he thought he caught a faint trace of the sweet scent that always announced her presence. He stiffened, raising his head and parting his jaws so that he could drink in the beloved smell.

“Spottedleaf!” he repeated. “Please come—I need you so much.”

A sudden warmth crept over him. A soft voice murmured, “I am here, Fireheart.” He sensed that Spottedleaf was somewhere behind him, and that if he turned his head, he would see her. But he could not move. It was as if cold jaws were gripping him, keeping his gaze fixed on the windswept moorland.

As he stood rigid, Fireheart gradually realized that Spottedleaf was not alone. Another scent wafted over him, painful in its familiarity.

“Yellowfang?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

A faint breath stirred his pelt, and he thought he could hear Yellowfang’s rusty purr. “Oh, Yellowfang!” he exclaimed. “I’ve missed you so much. Are you okay? Have you seen how well Cinderpelt is doing?”

The words spilled out of him in his joy at the reunion with his old friend, but there was no reply, though Fireheart thought the purring grew stronger.

Then Spottedleaf’s voice whispered softly into his ear, “I have brought you here for a reason, Fireheart. Look at this place; remember it. This is where a battle will not be fought, and blood will not be spilled.”

“Then tell me how to stop it,” Fireheart pleaded, knowing that she spoke of Bluestar’s planned raid on the WindClan camp.

But there was nothing more, only a gentle sigh that faded and became one with the wind. The paralysis that had gripped Fireheart released him, and he whipped around, but Spottedleaf and Yellowfang had vanished. He drank in the air, desperate for the last trace of their scent, but there was nothing.

“Spottedleaf!” he wailed. “Yellowfang! Don’t go!”

The light began to change, became the ordinary sunlight of a morning in leaf-fall, and instead of the moorland Fireheart saw above him a ragged pattern of branches against the sky, the fire-damaged covering of the warriors’ den. He lay on his side among the moss, panting.

“Fireheart?” An anxious voice came from just beside him and he turned his head to see Sandstorm. She licked the fur around his ear. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—yes, I’m fine.” Fireheart dragged himself into a sitting position and flicked his ears to shake off the clinging moss. “Just a dream, that’s all.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Sandstorm went on. “We didn’t see anything suspicious on the dawn patrol. Mousefur told me what happened at the Gathering. And the pile of fresh-kill is practically all gone. I thought we could go and hunt.”

“I can’t, not just now, Sandstorm. I’ve things to do. But if you could take a patrol out, that would be great.”

Sandstorm gazed at him, the sympathetic look in her eyes fading. “Well, okay, if you’re too busy.” She sounded offended, but Fireheart didn’t know how he could explain. “I’ll get Brindleface and Brackenfur to come.” She rose to her paws and stalked out without looking back at him.

Fireheart licked his paw and rubbed it over his face, clinging to the precious memory of his dream.

A battle will not be fought, and blood will not be spilled, he repeated to himself. Was Spottedleaf trying to tell him not to worry, that somehow StarClan would stop the fighting? Or did she mean that it was up to him to see that no blood was spilled?

Fireheart was tempted to leave it all in the paws of StarClan. What could he do, when his Clan leader had given him her orders? But if he obeyed Bluestar, wouldn’t he be going against the will of StarClan? And even more, against all his instincts of what was right for his Clan?

Fireheart made up his mind. Whatever he had to do, ThunderClan must not fight WindClan.