Firestar’s Quest

Chapter 12

“No!” Firestar yowled. “Sandstorm! Sandstorm, where are you?”

There was no reply. Firestar ran up and down the bank, yowling his mate’s name over and over. He couldn’t see any sign of her, no trace of ginger fur among the debris thrown up on the far bank.

He raced downriver, scrambling over rocks slick with water. Desperately he scanned the banks and the surging water, convinced that every scrap of tossing debris might be his beloved mate.

He had to stop at last, sides heaving, his paws scraped and bleeding. Standing on a boulder, he stared down at the black, gurgling water a tail-length below. If Sandstorm was dead, he would never, ever forgive himself.

You stupid excuse for a cat!

Bluestar’s face in the cloud had clearly been a warning, but he had ignored it. He had been so wrapped up in his quest for SkyClan that he had forgotten what he owed to Sandstorm.

Whatever had happened to her, if she was drowned or lying injured somewhere, it was his fault. He let out a whimper of grief. How could he have let Sandstorm believe that he would 1 4 5

rather have been with Spottedleaf? It was Sandstorm he loved, and he would do anything to live the time over again and send her across the tree trunk first.

Rain still fell, but more gently now, hissing into the river, and the thunder had rolled away into the distance. The gloom of day was fading to twilight. Firestar wanted to go on, but he knew he couldn’t search properly in the dark. He could easily miss Sandstorm if she was lying unconscious.

Every pawstep painful, he crept underneath the jutting boulder and curled up. Exhaustion surged over him like the black water of the river, dragging him into a cold, dreamless sleep.

Pale light reflected from the surface of the water and woke Firestar. He crawled into the open, shivering in the wind.

Clouds raced above his head, tearing away to show blue sky behind them, and the sun was already climbing toward sunhigh. The storm was over. His pelt was almost dry, the fur sticking together in clumps.

For a heartbeat Firestar drew in the clear air, gathering himself for the next stage of his journey. Then memory struck him like the blow from a badger’s paw. Sandstorm was gone.

All that mattered was to find his mate. He couldn’t go on without her; he had to retrace his pawsteps downstream.

Firestar stood on the edge of the river and looked across at the other bank, measuring the distance. His instincts told him to plunge in and swim, but he held back. The river was still full, and too fast-flowing for even a RiverClan cat to cross safely. With a sigh, he began to pad along the bank.

Soon more boulders reared up in front of him, too steep for Firestar to climb. He was forced away from the edge of the river. Climbing a steep bank, he picked his way through long grass at the edge of a field. The stems were weighted down by raindrops, soaking his pelt afresh as he brushed through them. With every pawstep he peered down at the river through the thin line of trees, scanning for any sign of a familiar ginger pelt.

The clouds began to clear away and the sun shone more strongly, soaking into Firestar’s drenched fur. The scent of prey drifted to him from the field, but he ignored it. As he limped onward he spotted another tree fallen slantwise across the river, but several tail-lengths separated its upper branches from the far bank, and Firestar didn’t dare risk using it to cross. He picked up his pace when he spotted a narrow wooden Twoleg bridge, only to halt in frustration as he realized that the middle section was broken away, leaving a gap too wide to leap.

The sun was already going down when he came to another bridge. His paws itched to cross, but Twolegs blocked his path: two adults and a kit. A dog padded beside them.

Firestar’s neck fur bristled and he crouched down in the grass; then he noticed that the dog was old and plump, and tethered to the Twoleg kit by some sort of tendril. That meant it was much less of a risk, as long as he ran fast enough.

Taking a deep breath, Firestar streaked down the bank and across the bridge, darting between the legs of the Twolegs.

He heard a bark of surprise from the dog. One of the Twolegs called out, but Firestar didn’t look back. He skidded off the far end of the bridge and plunged into the shelter of the bushes, his heart thudding.

When he dared to peer out, he saw the Twolegs staring after him, the old dog straining on its tendril, but after a moment they carried on, turning downstream on the far bank. Firestar let out a sigh of relief. Once they were out of sight he emerged and set out down the path.

The ground beneath his paws was covered in sticky mud, with debris scattered over it. The enormous wave must have washed right up to the bushes; Sandstorm couldn’t possibly have escaped it.

Firestar looked and looked for her, dreading the sight of lifeless ginger fur caught up in a branch or rammed against a boulder. The sun had already disappeared when he came to the abandoned Twoleg nest. In the twilight he padded up the path, hope flickering in his heart. Sandstorm had wanted to shelter here; if she had survived the wave she might have spent the night inside. But when he reached the door Firestar could pick up only a faint, stale trace of her scent, along with his own.

Unable to give up without a search, he slipped inside the nest. The dust rose under his paws, stinging his nose.

“Sandstorm?” he called.

There was no reply. Staggering with exhaustion, Firestar dragged himself up the uneven slope and explored the dens above, but there too, the only scent of Sandstorm was stale.

Grief and fear overwhelmed him; he curled up on the bare wooden floor and closed his eyes, but sleep was hard to come by. When unconsciousness overwhelmed him at last, his sleep was disturbed by broken memories of his life with his Twolegs, as if he had never left them to become a warrior, or known the joy of leading his Clan.

He woke shivering in the gray light of dawn. As he padded down the slope again, his heart lurched when he heard movement coming from the Twoleg kitchen. Without pausing to scent, he rushed through the opening. “Sandstorm?”

He was halted in his tracks by a fierce snarling. A fox raised its red-streaked muzzle from a meal of pigeon, its white teeth bared among the blood and feathers.

Firestar backed slowly away until he reached the outer door. Then he turned and fled, racing down the path with his belly fur brushing the ground and his tail streaming behind him. He was braced to feel the hot breath of the fox on his neck and its teeth meeting in his scruff, but he reached the riverbank safely. Panting, he looked back. The fox hadn’t pursued him.

Firestar trotted along the bank until he reached the other Twoleg nest where the monster had almost caught them.

Rounding a bend in the river, he halted in surprise. Where the Twolegs and their kits had been was a vast stretch of water, flat and silver-gray, spilling out from the river and pooling around the nest. A few Twoleg things bobbed forlornly in the middle of it. Close to the nest two or three Twolegs were standing, staring out at the water and wailing.

Keeping an eye on the Twolegs in case any of them spotted him, Firestar skirted the edge of the water, hoping to cross the Thunderpath behind the nest, as he and Sandstorm had done before. But the flood stretched much farther than he had thought. The Thunderpath itself was underwater.

Firestar had to pick his way through marshy woodland, slipping into muddy hollows and snagging his fur on brambles.

At last he reached the little Thunderpath again. Out of habit he crouched beside it, glancing cautiously up and down, but there were no monsters today. Everything was silent except for steady dripping from the trees.

Firestar pushed his way through the undergrowth on the other side of the Thunderpath, hoping to follow the edge of the flood back to the river. But as he emerged from the woods again he heard loud yapping. A Twoleg and a little fox-colored dog were rounding the corner of the nest.

Whipping around, Firestar fled, but he was too late. The dog rushed at him with a flurry of high-pitched yaps. Firestar heard the Twoleg yowl, but the dog kept on coming. Firestar could hear it blundering through the trees behind him. He forced his legs to move even faster. A wall reared up in front of him; without thinking, Firestar took a flying leap, clawed his way up the stones, and paused to look down at his pursuer.

The dog panted up to the wall and sat at the foot, howling. Firestar bared his teeth in a furious hiss, then jumped down into the garden on the other side. As he slid into the shelter of a bush he heard the dog’s Twoleg come crashing up, snarling irritably. The dog’s yapping faded into the distance as it was dragged away.

Firestar crouched in the shelter of the dripping bush and caught his breath. Where could the water have taken

Sandstorm? If the river had flooded this far, she could have been swept away from the bank altogether. If she managed to struggle free, he thought, she might have come this way to escape the flood.

It would be worth searching a few gardens, Firestar decided, to see if he could pick up any trace of her. At least there was no more rain, and the pale sun drew up steam from the sodden grass.

Firestar peered out from behind his bush and examined the garden. It looked empty. There were no sounds coming from the Twoleg nest. But when he tasted the air he couldn’t scent Sandstorm. She wasn’t here; he would have to go on.

Streaking across the grass, he plunged through the bushes at the far side and leaped up onto the opposite wall. Beyond it was a narrow passage; after checking for scent, Firestar jumped down. The wall on the other side was too high to climb, so he trotted along the passage, senses straining for any trace of Sandstorm.

The passage emerged into a tangle of Twoleg nests joined by a small Thunderpath. Everything was quiet, and there were no monsters in sight, not even sleeping ones. All the same, Firestar’s pelt prickled. Being in a Twolegplace didn’t feel right, and he was already beginning to doubt that he would find Sandstorm so far from the river.

I’ll just take a quick look.

But all the nests and gardens looked alike, and the rain had washed away any scents that might have guided him. Jumping up onto a wall that he thought overlooked the passage back to the woods, Firestar found himself staring down into yet another garden.

“Fox dung!” he spat. “Now I’m lost. What else can go wrong?”

He tried to retrace his steps, but somewhere he must have taken a wrong turn. More unfamiliar gardens stretched in front of him, separated by the winding alleys that seemed to turn back on themselves. Several times he crossed his own scent trail, but it didn’t lead him anywhere. By the time night was falling, he still hadn’t found his way back to the river.

He felt too tired to go on searching; warily he dropped down from a fence into one of the gardens and crawled underneath a bush with strong-smelling blue flowers. With luck they would hide his scent from any passing kittypets.

This time his dreams were filled with the voice of his mate, wailing for him in the distance, but however far and fast he ran, he couldn’t catch up with her. When he woke he still felt exhausted, and so miserable that it took an immense effort for him to drag himself out from underneath the bush.

Across the garden a movement caught his eye, and he spotted a plump white cat emerging from the door of the nest. It yawned and stretched, then lay down in a patch of sunlight on some flat stones and began to wash its long, snowy fur.

He looks like Cloudtail, Firestar thought, leaping down and approaching cautiously in case the kittypet displayed any of his kin’s fighting skills.

The cat looked up in surprise and fixed a brilliant blue gaze on Firestar as the ThunderClan leader paused at the edge of the stones and dipped his head politely. Firestar suppressed a spurt of contempt that this kittypet couldn’t be bothered to defend his own territory. He didn’t look as if he had ever raised a claw in anger in his life.

“Greetings,” he meowed.

The white cat blinked at him. “Hi. Who are you?”

“My name’s Firestar. Have you seen a ginger cat recently?”

The kittypet blinked again. “I’ve seen you.”

Firestar gritted his teeth. “Yes, but I’m not looking for me,” he pointed out. He wanted to sink his claws into the kittypet and shake some sense into him, but he managed to stop himself.

“Well…” the white cat went on, “I think I saw a ginger cat

… oh, about five days ago. Or was that a tortoiseshell?”

Firestar took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Never mind. Can you just tell me how to get back to the river?”

The kittypet twitched his whiskers. “What river?”

Firestar dug his claws into the ground. “Thanks for your help,” he hissed.

Turning his back on the kittypet, he raced across the garden and climbed the wall. Yet another narrow passage lay beyond. With nothing else to do, Firestar padded along it until it emerged into a wide space covered with black Thunderpath stuff. A Thunderpath led out of it from the other side, and all around it were small, square nests with fea-tureless walls and gaping entrances. Some of them were empty, but one of them had swallowed a monster whole.

Every hair on Firestar’s pelt rose. What if one of the nests swallowed him, too? His paws were itching to run back the way he had come, but he thought that if he could get out on the other side, along the Thunderpath, he might be able to find his way back to the river.

Cautiously, pawstep by pawstep, he ventured out onto the hard black surface. He was almost halfway across when he froze at the roar of a monster, growing rapidly louder. The huge creature swept through the opening, sunlight glinting off its shiny pelt, and bore down on Firestar.

Fear slammed into Firestar’s throat. He dodged to one side. The monster followed him. It’s hunting me! Its throaty snarl seemed to be all around him. Letting out a terrified caterwaul, Firestar clawed his way up the wall of one of the nests, across the roof, and crashed down on the other side, too panic-stricken to look where he was going.

His paws sank deep into a pile of Twoleg rubbish. Its reek billowed out around him. Choking, Firestar scrabbled furiously to drag himself out of the mess. Shaking pieces of the stinking stuff from his fur, he collapsed on his side, his head spinning. There was a vile taste in his mouth, and he felt as if every muscle in his body were aching.

Despair crashed over him. He had failed Sandstorm and SkyClan. He had failed his own Clan by abandoning them.

Every decision he had made had been wrong, and he was too exhausted to do any more.

His belly was caterwauling with hunger, but Firestar was too miserable even to try scenting prey. A few tail-lengths away he could see a pile of Twoleg stuff covered by a stiff, shiny pelt. His muscles shrieking in protest, he crawled over to it and slunk into the shelter of the pelt. With a tiny sigh he closed his eyes and let darkness take him.

His dreams were dark and chaotic. Over and over again he saw the enormous wave bearing down on him, and heard Sandstorm yowling to him for help he couldn’t give. Then the Twoleg dog chased him, gripped his scruff in its teeth, and shook him until he thought it would rip his pelt off.