A Dangerous Path

Chapter 20

“Will she live?” Fireheart asked anxiously.

Cinderpelt let out a weary sigh. She had come to Snakerocks as fast as her uneven legs could run and done her best to patch up the worst of Brightpaw’s injuries with cobwebs to stop the bleeding and poppy seeds for the pain. At last the apprentice had recovered enough to be dragged back through the forest to the camp, and now she lay unconscious in a nest among the ferns near Cinderpelt’s den.

“I don’t know,” Cinderpelt admitted. “I’ve done the best I can. She’s in the paws of StarClan now.”

“She’s a strong cat,” Fireheart meowed, trying to reassure himself. When he looked at Brightpaw now, curled among the ferns, she looked anything but strong. She seemed smaller than a kit, no more than a scrap of fur. Fireheart half expected each shallow breath to be her last.

“Even if she recovers, she’ll be hideously scarred,” Cinderpelt warned him. “I couldn’t save her ear or eye. I don’t know that she’ll ever be a warrior.”

Fireheart nodded. He felt sick as he forced himself to look at the side of Brightpaw’s face, now swathed in cobwebs. All this reminded him of Cinderpelt’s accident, when Yellowfang had told him that the young she-cat’s leg would never heal properly.

“She said something about the ‘pack,’” he murmured. “I wonder what it was she really saw.”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “It’s what we’ve been afraid of all along. There’s something in the forest hunting us down. I heard it in my dream.”

“I know.” Fireheart’s muscles tensed with regret. “I should have done something long ago. StarClan sent that warning to Bluestar too.”

“But Bluestar has no respect for StarClan anymore. I’m surprised she even listened to them.”

“Do you think that’s why this happened?” Fireheart spun around and faced the medicine cat.

“No.” Cinderpelt’s voice was strained as she moved closer to Fireheart and pressed herself against him. “StarClan did not send the evil; I’m sure of that.”

As she spoke, a rustling in the fern tunnel announced the arrival of Cloudtail.

“I thought I told you to get some rest,” Cinderpelt meowed.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The white cat padded over to settle himself in the ferns beside his friend. “I want to be with Brightpaw.” He bent his head to give her shoulder a gentle lick. “Sleep well, Brightpaw. You’re still beautiful,” he murmured. “Come back to us. I don’t know where you are now, but you have to come back.”

He went on licking her for a moment more and then looked up to fix a hostile glare on Fireheart. “This is all your fault!” he burst out. “She and Swiftpaw should have been made warriors, and then they wouldn’t have gone off on their own.”

Fireheart met his kin’s gaze steadily. “Yes, I know,” he mewed. “I tried, believe me.”

He broke off as he heard the soft pawsteps of another cat, and turned to see that Bluestar was approaching. Fireheart had sent Sandstorm to fetch her, and the ginger warrior followed her into the medicine cat’s clearing.

The Clan leader stood and looked down at Brightpaw in silence. Cloudtail raised his head challengingly, and for a heartbeat Fireheart thought he was going to accuse Bluestar of being responsible for Brightpaw’s terrible injuries as well, but Cloudtail stayed silent.

Bluestar blinked a couple of times and asked, “Is she dying?”

“That’s up to StarClan,” Cinderpelt told her, catching Fireheart’s eye.

“And what mercy can we expect from them?” Bluestar growled. “If it’s up to StarClan, Brightpaw will die.”

“Without ever being a warrior,” mewed Cloudtail; his voice was quiet and sorrowful, and he bent his head again to lick Brightpaw’s shoulder.

“Not necessarily.” Bluestar spoke reluctantly. “There is a ritual—thankfully little used—if a dying apprentice is worthy, she can be made into a warrior so that she may take a warrior name to StarClan.” She hesitated.

Fireheart held his breath in disbelief. Would Bluestar really put aside her anger at their ancestors to acknowledge the importance of StarClan in a warrior’s life? Was she about to admit that Brightpaw had been denied the warrior status she deserved?

Cloudtail looked up at the gray she-cat again. “Then do it,” he growled.

Bluestar did not react to being ordered around by her newest warrior. As Fireheart and Cinderpelt looked on, pelts touching for comfort, and Sandstorm approached to bear silent witness, the Clan leader dipped her head and began to speak. “I ask my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has learned the warrior code and has given up her life in the service of her Clan. Let StarClan receive her as a warrior.” Then she paused, and her eyes blazed with anger that burned like cold fire. “She will be known as Lostface, so that every cat knows what StarClan did to take her from us,” she growled.

Fireheart stared at his leader in horror. How could she use this terribly wounded apprentice in her war against her warrior ancestors?

“But that’s a cruel name!” Cloudtail protested. “What if she lives?”

“Then we will have all the more reason to remember what StarClan have brought us to,” Bluestar replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They will have this warrior as Lostface, or not at all.”

Cloudtail held her gaze for a moment longer, the light of challenge in his blue eyes, and then dipped his head as if he knew there was no point in arguing.

“Let StarClan receive her by the name of Lostface,” Bluestar finished. She bent her head and lightly touched her nose to Lostface’s head. “There, it is done,” she murmured.

As if the touch had roused her, Lostface’s eyes opened and a look of terrible fear flooded into them. For a moment she struggled back to wakefulness. “Pack, pack!” She gasped. “Kill, kill!”

Bluestar recoiled, her fur bristling. “What? What does she mean?” she demanded.

But Lostface had sunk into unconsciousness again. Bluestar looked wildly from Cinderpelt to Fireheart and back again. “What did she mean?” she repeated.

“I don’t know,” Cinderpelt mewed uneasily. “That’s all she will say.”

“But, Fireheart, I told you…” Bluestar was struggling to speak. “StarClan showed me an evil in the forest, and they called it ‘pack.’ Is it the pack that has done this?”

Cinderpelt avoided her eyes, going instead to check on Lostface. Fireheart sought for an answer that would satisfy his leader. He did not want Bluestar to know that her cats were being hunted down as if they were prey for some nameless, faceless enemy. But he knew that she would not be satisfied by empty reassurances.

“No cat knows,” he replied at last. “I’ll warn the patrols to be on their guard, but—”

“But if StarClan has abandoned us, patrols will not help us,” Bluestar finished scornfully. “Perhaps they have even sent this pack to punish me.”

“No!” Cinderpelt faced her leader. “StarClan did not send the pack. Our ancestors care for us, and they would never disrupt the life of the forest or destroy a whole Clan for a single grudge. Bluestar, you must believe this.”

Bluestar ignored her. She padded over to Lostface and stood looking down at her. “Forgive me,” she meowed. “I have brought down the wrath of StarClan on you.” Then she turned away toward her den.

Almost as soon as she had gone, an agonizing wail broke out in the main clearing. Fireheart raced through the ferns to see that Longtail and Graystripe were bringing Swiftpaw’s body back for burial. When the limp black-and-white shape had been laid in the center of the clearing, his mentor crouched beside him, touching his nose to his fur in the ritual position of mourning. Swiftpaw’s mother, Goldenflower, sat next to him, while Bramblekit and Tawnykit, Swiftpaw’s half brother and half sister, looked on with wide, scared eyes.

A fresh wave of grief flooded through Fireheart. Longtail had been a good mentor to Swiftpaw. He did not deserve the pain he was going through now.

Returning to Cinderpelt’s clearing, he saw that Sandstorm had padded over to stand beside the medicine cat, who was pressing fresh cobwebs onto the blood-soaked dressings. “Maybe she’ll pull through,” she mewed. “If any cat can help her, you can, Cinderpelt.”

Cinderpelt looked up and blinked gratefully. “Thanks, Sandstorm. But healing herbs can only do so much. And if Lostface lives, she might not thank me.” She caught Fireheart’s eye, and he saw in her face a fear that the injured cat would be unable to cope with her horrifically changed appearance. What future lay ahead for a cat whose scars would remind her forever of this living nightmare?

“I’ll still look after her,” vowed Cloudtail, glancing up from his gentle licking.

Fireheart felt a burst of pride. If only his former apprentice could show the same unquestioning loyalty to the warrior code, he would be one of the finest warriors in ThunderClan.

Sandstorm gently nosed Lostface and then drew away. “I’ll fetch some fresh-kill for you and Cloudtail,” she meowed to Cinderpelt. “And a piece for Lostface too. She might want something if she wakes up.” Determinedly optimistic, she padded out into the clearing.

“I don’t want anything to eat,” mewed Cloudtail. His voice was dull and exhausted. “I feel sick.”

“You need to sleep,” Cinderpelt told him. “I’ll give you some poppy seeds.”

“I don’t want poppy seeds either. I want to stay with Lostface.”

“I’m not asking you what you want; I’m telling you what you need,” Cinderpelt retorted. “You kept vigil last night, remember?” More gently, she added, “I promise I’ll wake you if there’s any change.”

While she went to fetch the seeds, Fireheart gave his kin a sympathetic glance. “She’s the medicine cat,” he pointed out. “She knows what’s best.”

Cloudtail didn’t reply, but when Cinderpelt came back carrying a dried poppy head and shook a few seeds out in front of him, he licked them up without complaining. Exhausted, he curled himself close to Lostface and was asleep within a few heartbeats.

“I never thought he would care for another cat as much as that,” Fireheart murmured.

“You didn’t notice?” For all her anxiety, there was a glint of amusement in Cinderpelt’s blue eyes. “He’s been padding after Brightpaw—Lostface—for a season now. He really loves her, you know.”

Seeing the two young cats curled up together, Fireheart could believe it.

Fireheart headed toward the pile of fresh-kill. It was almost sunhigh, but though the rays poured down brightly into the clearing there was little warmth in them. Leaf-bare had come to the forest.

Days had passed since Swiftpaw had been killed and Lostface injured. Fireheart had just been to check on her, and she still clung to life. Cinderpelt began to be cautiously optimistic that she would survive. Cloudtail spent nearly every moment with her; Fireheart had excused him temporarily from warrior duties so that he could care for the injured cat.

As Fireheart crossed the clearing, he saw Graystripe emerge from the warriors’ den and approach the fresh-kill pile. Darkstripe overtook him before he reached it and shouldered him aside to snatch up a rabbit. Dustpelt, already choosing his own meal, gave Graystripe a hostile glare and the gray warrior hesitated, unwilling to go any closer until the other two warriors had withdrawn to the nettle patch to eat.

Quickening his pace, Fireheart came up beside his friend. “Ignore them,” he muttered. “They keep their brains in their tails.”

Graystripe flashed him a grateful glance before picking a magpie out of the pile.

“Let’s eat together,” Fireheart suggested, choosing a vole and leading the way to a sunny patch of ground near the warriors’ den. “And don’t let those two worry you,” he added. “They can’t stay hostile forever.”

Graystripe did not look convinced, but he said nothing more, and the two warriors settled down to eat. Across the clearing, Tawnykit and Bramblekit were playing with Willowpelt’s three kits. Fireheart felt a pang of grief as he remembered how Lostface had sometimes played with them, as if she were looking forward to having kits herself. Would she ever mother her own litter now?

“I can’t get over how much that kit looks like his father,” meowed Graystripe after watching them for a moment.

“Just so long as he doesn’t behave like his father,” Fireheart replied. He stiffened when he saw Bramblekit bowl over one of Willowpelt’s much smaller kits, but relaxed again as the tiny tortoiseshell sprang up and hurled herself joyfully on Bramblekit.

“It must be time he was apprenticed,” remarked Graystripe. “He and Tawnykit are older than—” He broke off, and a distant, sorrowful expression clouded his amber eyes.

Fireheart knew that he was thinking of his own kits, left behind in RiverClan. “Yes, it’s time I was thinking about mentors,” he agreed, hoping to distract his friend from his bittersweet memories. “I’ll ask Bluestar if I can mentor Bramblekit myself. Who do you think would—”

“You’ll mentor Bramblekit?” Graystripe stared at him. “Is that a good idea?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Fireheart asked, feeling his fur start to prickle. “I haven’t an apprentice, now that Cloudtail has been made a warrior.”

“Because you don’t like Bramblekit,” retorted Graystripe. “I don’t blame you, but wouldn’t he be better off with a mentor who trusts him?”

Fireheart hesitated. There was some truth in what Graystripe said, but Fireheart knew that he couldn’t give the task to any other cat. He had to have Bramblekit under his own guidance to make sure he stayed loyal to ThunderClan.

“My mind’s made up,” he mewed curtly. “I wanted to ask you who you think would be good for Tawnykit.”

Graystripe paused, as if he wanted to go on arguing, then shrugged. “I’m surprised you have to ask. There’s an obvious choice.” When Fireheart didn’t speak, he added, “Sandstorm, you mouse-brain!”

Fireheart took a mouthful of vole to give himself time to think of an answer. Sandstorm was an experienced warrior. She had been an apprentice along with Fireheart himself, Graystripe, and Dustpelt, and she was the only one of the four never to have had an apprentice of her own. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tawnykit to her.

Swallowing the vole, he meowed, “I more or less promised Snowkit to Brackenfur. It’s only fair I should ask Bluestar if he can mentor Tawnykit, seeing as he was disappointed so recently. Besides, he’s a fine warrior, and he’ll do a good job.”

Graystripe’s eyes glowed briefly with pride; Brackenfur had been his apprentice, and he was clearly delighted to hear how well the young warrior was doing. Then he twitched his ears disbelievingly. “Come on, Fireheart. That’s not the real reason, and you know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to give Tawnykit to Sandstorm because you’re afraid of what Tigerstar might do.”

Staring at his friend, Fireheart knew that the gray warrior was right. The reason had been there in his mind, but he had refused to admit it, even to himself.

“You want to protect her,” Graystripe went on, when Fireheart didn’t speak.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Fireheart demanded. “Tigerstar already encouraged Darkstripe to take the kits out of camp to visit him. Do you think that will be the end of it? Do you think he’ll be content just to see them at Gatherings?”

“No, I don’t.” Graystripe gave an exasperated snort. “But what will Sandstorm think? She’s not some pretty little kittypet, hiding behind big, strong warriors. She can take care of herself.”

Fireheart shrugged uncomfortably. “Sandstorm will just have to accept the decision. I’m sure Bluestar will agree to let Brackenfur have Tawnykit.”

Graystripe’s amber eyes gleamed in anticipation of trouble ahead. “You’re the deputy. But Sandstorm isn’t going to like it,” he predicted.

“You want to mentor Bramblekit?” asked Bluestar.

Fireheart stood in her den. He had just raised the question of the new apprentices, suggesting that they should hold the naming ceremony at sunset.

“Yes,” he mewed. “And Brackenfur to mentor Tawnykit.”

Bluestar gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “A traitor to mentor the son of a traitor,” she rasped. Clearly she had no interest in who should mentor Tawnykit. “How suitable.”

“Bluestar, there are no traitors in the Clan now,” Fireheart tried to assure her, pushing down his misgivings about Bramblekit.

Bluestar gave a disdainful sniff. “Do what you want, Fireheart. Why should I care what happens to this nest of rogues?”

Fireheart gave up his attempt to reason with her. Backing out of the den, he returned to the clearing. The sun was already going down, and the Clan had begun to gather in anticipation of the ceremony. Fireheart spotted Brackenfur and called him over.

“I think you’re ready for an apprentice,” he announced. “How would you like to mentor Tawnykit?”

Brackenfur’s eyes glowed. “Do you really mean it?” he stammered. “That would be great!”

“You’ll do a fine job,” Fireheart meowed. “Do you know what to do in the ceremony?”

He paused as Sandstorm appeared from the warriors’ den and began walking toward him. “Hang on, Brackenfur,” he muttered hastily. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Then he went to meet the pale ginger warrior.

“What’s this Graystripe tells me?” Sandstorm demanded as soon as he was in earshot. “Is it true that you asked Bluestar if Brackenfur could mentor Tawnykit?”

Fireheart swallowed. Her green eyes were blazing with anger, and the fur on her shoulders bristled. “Yes, it’s true,” he began.

“But I’m more experienced than he is!”

Fireheart resisted the urge to tell her the truth, so that Sandstorm knew he was doing it for her sake and for no other reason. But telling her that she wasn’t going to mentor Tawnykit because he wanted to protect her from possible trouble with Tigerstar would make her even more furious. She would only think that he had judged her too weak to deal with the threat posed by the ShadowClan leader.

“Well?” Sandstorm insisted. “Don’t you think I’m capable of being a good mentor?”

“It’s not that at all,” Fireheart protested.

“Then what? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t mentor Tawnykit!”

“Because I…” Fireheart cast around desperately for something he could tell her. “Because I want you to lead extra hunting patrols. You’re a brilliant hunter, Sandstorm—the best. And with leaf-bare here, prey will be scarce again. We’re really going to need you.” As he spoke, he realized that what he said was true. Extra hunting patrols led by Sandstorm would be one way to solve the problem of feeding the Clan through the bitter moons of leaf-bare.

Sandstorm, however, was not impressed. “You’re just making excuses,” she meowed scornfully. “There’s no reason why I shouldn’t lead hunting patrols and mentor Tawnykit. She’s bright and fast, and I bet she turns out to be a brilliant hunter, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart mewed. “I’ve already asked Brackenfur to take Tawnykit. I’ll ask Bluestar to give you one of Willowpelt’s kits when the worst of leaf-bare is over. Okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” Sandstorm hissed. “I haven’t done anything to be passed over like this. I won’t forget this in a hurry, Fireheart.”

She turned away and went to join Frostfur and Brindleface. Fireheart took a step after her and then stopped. There was nothing he could say, and besides, Bluestar had just appeared from her den to call the Clan to the meeting.

As the Clan assembled, Fireheart noticed Graystripe crouching alone not far from the Highrock. Mousefur stalked pointedly past him on her way to sit with the other she-cats. Frustrated at the way some of the Clan still refused to accept Graystripe, Fireheart wanted to go over to reassure him, but he had to stay where he was, ready for his part in the ceremony. A moment later Cloudtail and Whitestorm appeared from the fern tunnel leading to Cinderpelt’s den and settled down alongside the gray warrior, to Fireheart’s relief.

Cinderpelt followed them out of the ferns and limped hurriedly over to Fireheart. As she drew closer he saw that her blue eyes were sparkling. “Good news, Fireheart,” she announced. “Lostface just woke up and managed to eat some fresh-kill. I think she’s going to be okay.”

Fireheart let out a delighted purr. “That’s great, Cinderpelt.” But for all his relief at the news, he couldn’t help wondering how Lostface would cope when she learned that her face was so terribly injured.

“She’s already sitting up and trying to groom herself,” Cinderpelt went on, “but she’s still very shaky. She’ll need to stay in my den for a few days yet.”

“Has she said anything about what attacked her?”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “I tried to ask her, but it upsets her too much to think about it. She still cries out ‘pack’ and ‘kill’ in her nightmares.”

“The Clan needs to know,” Fireheart reminded her.

“Then the Clan will have to wait,” Cinderpelt assured sharply. “Lostface needs peace and quiet if she’s going to get better.”

Fireheart wanted to ask her when she thought Lostface would be fit to talk to him, but he had to pay attention to the ceremony as Goldenflower came out of the nursery, flanked by her two kits. Fireheart could see she had groomed both of them especially carefully. Tawnykit’s ginger fur glowed like a flame in the dying sun, and Bramblekit’s dark tabby pelt had a glossy sheen. As they approached the Highrock, Tawnykit bounced around with excitement, but Bramblekit seemed calm, padding forward with his head and tail held high.

Fireheart wondered if this was what Tigerstar had looked like when he had first been made an apprentice. Had he shown the same promise of courage and a long life in the service of his Clan? Had his Clan leader and his mentor had any idea of what he was destined to become?

Bluestar called both kits forward to stand beside her at the foot of the Highrock. Fireheart noticed that she was looking more alert than usual, as if even she could not be indifferent to the prospect of more warriors to fight for her Clan.

“Brackenfur,” she began, “Fireheart tells me that you are ready for your first apprentice. You will be mentor to Tawnypaw.”

Looking nearly as excited as his new apprentice, Brackenfur stepped forward, and Tawnypaw ran up to meet him.

“Brackenfur,” Bluestar continued, “you have shown yourself to be a warrior of loyalty and forethought. Do your best to pass on these qualities to Tawnypaw.”

Brackenfur and Tawnypaw touched noses and withdrew to the side of the clearing, while Bluestar turned to Fireheart.

“Now that Cloudtail is a warrior,” she went on, “you are free to take on another apprentice. You will be mentor to Bramblepaw.”

Her eyes glittered as she gazed at Fireheart, and he realized with a flash of horror that she was suspicious of his motives in offering to train Tigerstar’s son. Fireheart tried to meet his leader’s icy gaze steadily. Whatever Bluestar thought, he knew that he was motivated by loyalty to his Clan.

Bramblepaw padded toward his mentor, and Fireheart went to meet him in the middle of the circle of cats. Looking down into the young cat’s eyes, he felt both stirred and challenged by the blaze of enthusiasm there.

What a warrior he’ll make! Fireheart thought, and then added silently, If only he weren’t Tigerstar’s son!

“Fireheart, you have shown yourself to be a warrior of rare courage and quick thinking,” meowed Bluestar, her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure that you will pass on all you know to this young apprentice.”

Fireheart bent his head to touch noses with Bramblepaw. As he led the new apprentice back to the side of the clearing, Bramblepaw asked, “What do we do now, Fireheart? I want to learn everything—fighting and hunting and all about the other Clans…”

In spite of his misgivings, Fireheart had to admit that Bramblepaw clearly knew nothing about the old hostility between his mentor and his father. That was thanks to Goldenflower, who sat looking at them with an unreadable expression. Fireheart guessed she wouldn’t be too pleased that he had chosen to train Tigerstar’s son himself. And what would happen when Tigerstar found out? He could feel Darkstripe watching him closely and knew that the dark warrior would take the news to Tigerstar at the next Gathering, if not before.

“All in good time,” Fireheart promised the eager apprentice. “Tomorrow we’ll go with Brackenfur and your sister to tour the territory. Then you’ll learn where the borders are and how to recognize the scents of the other Clans.”

“Great!” Bramblepaw let out an excited squeak.

“But for now,” Fireheart went on as Bluestar drew the meeting to a close, “you can go and get to know the other apprentices. Don’t forget you sleep in their den tonight.”

He flicked his tail in dismissal, and Bramblepaw dashed off to his sister’s side as the other cats started to crowd around, congratulating the two new apprentices and calling them by their new names.

Watching them, Fireheart saw Graystripe get up and come toward him, passing Sandstorm on the way. He heard the ginger she-cat meow, “Graystripe, aren’t you sorry you weren’t given an apprentice?”

“In a way,” Graystripe replied. He sounded awkward, shooting Fireheart a sideways glance as he spoke. “I can’t expect one for a while, though. Half the Clan haven’t accepted me yet.”

“Then half the Clan are stupid furballs,” asserted Sandstorm, giving the gray warrior’s ear a lick.

Graystripe shrugged. “I know I’ll have to prove my loyalty before I can mentor an apprentice again. And you’ll have one soon,” he added, as if he could read her mind, “when Willowpelt’s kits are ready.”

An annoyed look flashed across Sandstorm’s face. Fireheart wondered whether he ought to try talking to her again, but as she spotted his hesitant approach she turned to Graystripe and meowed loudly, “Come on; let’s see if there’s any fresh-kill left.”

Fireheart halted and watched miserably as Sandstorm got to her paws and led the way over to the pile of prey. Graystripe followed her, casting a worried glance at Fireheart as he went.

Seeing Sandstorm turn her back on him, Fireheart felt bitter disappointment welling up inside him. However hard he tried, all his attempts to rekindle the old bond between him and Sandstorm seemed to be failing, and he missed her with a loneliness that could not be comforted by any of the other cats that thronged around him.