Firestar’s Quest

Chapter 17

“Ow!” Sandstorm halted at the foot of a thornbush, letting out a yowl of pain and shaking one forepaw.

“Shh!” Firestar hissed. “You’ll bring every cat in Twolegplace down on us.”

Sandstorm blinked at him. “I thought that was the point?

I’m sorry,” she added, giving her paw a quick swipe with her tongue. “I trod on a thorn; that’s all.”

Firestar glanced around. “I don’t think any cat heard.

Okay, carry on. As soon as the kittypets arrive, get down to the cave. Remember, it’s best if they don’t get a good look at you.”

“I know.” Annoyance sparked in Sandstorm’s eyes. “We went through all this last night.”

“Right, then.” Firestar took another quick look around, then pushed through the undergrowth until he reached the nearest tree. Clawing his way up the trunk, he settled himself on the lowest branch, hidden from below by thick bunches of leaves.

Beneath the tree, Sandstorm went on hunting. Water flooded Firestar’s jaws when he saw her bring down a mouse.

Neither of them had eaten since the night before. His claws worked impatiently on the branch. He couldn’t be sure if the kittypets would come, but the plan he had worked out with Sandstorm seemed to be the only chance of talking to some of the cats who lived near the abandoned camp.

He heard a rustling in the bushes a short way off. Peering through the leaves, he caught a glimpse of a tortoiseshell pelt.

His gaze flicked to Sandstorm; she was peering into the depths of a bush. Firestar didn’t dare call out to her in case he alerted the kittypets.

Then Sandstorm sat up, jaws parted as if she had detected a scent. A heartbeat later she grabbed up the mouse she had caught and vanished through the bushes toward the edge of the gorge.

“Hey, he’s here!” It was the tabby kittypet speaking, pushing through the undergrowth until he stood almost directly under Firestar’s tree. “I saw the bushes shaking where he went down to the cave.”

His tortoiseshell companion slipped past him, following the route Sandstorm had taken.

Don’t they ever pick up a scent? Firestar wondered. Can’t they tell it’s a different cat?

Both kittypets vanished again, but he could still hear their voices, raised as if they were calling down to the cave.

“Hey, dog-breath, did you like the present we left for you?”

“I bet it was the best mouse you’ve eaten this moon. We saved it just for you.”

“Did you, now?” Firestar muttered. Okay, time to go.

He leaped down from the tree and followed the kittypets through the bushes to the cliff edge. When their backs came into view he halted, taking up a position beside a thick growth of bramble. The kittypets wouldn’t want to push through that to get away from him.

“Crazy old furball!” the tortoiseshell called out. “Mangy old—”

“Who are you talking to?” Firestar interrupted loudly.

Both kittypets spun around, jaws gaping in identical amazed expressions. Firestar looked them over, raised one paw and licked it reflectively, then allowed his claws to slide out. The kittypets’ eyes widened.

“Er… we weren’t talking to any cat,” the tabby tom replied, his forepaws scuffling on the ground.

“You mean you sit on the edge of the cliff calling out to no cat?” Firestar asked. “You must be really weird to do that.”

“We’re not weird!” the tortoiseshell flashed back.

“Then tell me who you think is down there.”

“We don’t know. We haven’t done anything.” The tabby tom took a pace forward. “Let us go!”

The tortoiseshell stepped forward to stand beside her companion, their pelts brushing. Neither of them seemed to have the confidence to push past Firestar, and he was blocking the only route through the thorns. Both young cats jumped and huddled closer as a rustling came from the cliff edge and Sandstorm hauled herself into view.

The kittypets stared at her.

“You’re not—” the tortoiseshell blurted out.

“Not who?” Firestar demanded.

Sandstorm padded forward and sat beside the kittypets, who shrank away from her. “Firestar, don’t sound so fierce,” she meowed, flashing him a warning look. “They haven’t done any harm—well, not much.”

“We didn’t mean to,” the tabby tom insisted.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Sandstorm’s voice was soothing; Firestar wished the kittypets could have heard her when she was telling off a careless apprentice. “Why don’t you start by telling us your names?”

“I’m Boris, and she’s my sister Cherry,” the tabby replied and added nervously, “What are you going to do with us?”

“We won’t hurt you,” Sandstorm promised, with another hard look at Firestar, who sheathed his claws and wrapped his tail around his paws. “We’re just looking for some cats who might have lived here long ago.”

Boris looked puzzled. “Which cats?”

“A Clan of cats,” Firestar meowed. When the kittypets still looked blank, he added, “They used to live in these caves…

warrior cats in one, older cats in another, queens and their litters in another, and so on. They had a leader, and they taught their young cats the warrior code. They defended their borders—”

“Oh, them!” the tortoiseshell, Cherry, meowed impatiently. “We’ve heard stories about them.” She paused.

“According to some of the cats around here, there used to be a lot of fierce cats who lived in these caves. They even used to eat kittypets!”

“That’s a load of mouse dung,” Boris protested. “I can fight as well as any cat. They wouldn’t eat me!”

“I didn’t see you being so keen to fight this cat.” His sister flicked her tail at Firestar. “Anyway, those cats have gone now, all except crazy old Moony.”

“Who’s Moony?” Sandstorm asked, and Firestar added, “Is that who you thought was down in the cave?”

The two kittypets exchanged a glance, beginning to look embarrassed again. Boris ducked his head and started to lick his chest fur.

“He’s just this mad old cat,” Cherry muttered. “He doesn’t live here, but he comes here every full moon, and sits on that rock that sticks out over the gorge. He spends ages staring up at the moon—that’s why we call him Moony.”

“Then he sleeps one night in that cave before he goes away again,” Boris added.

Cherry gave a disdainful sniff. “Every cat around here knows that he’s mad. If you try to talk to him, he just tells you weird stories about cats in the stars.”

Firestar felt every hair on his pelt stand on end. This was the first clue that any trace of Clan life survived, that any cat knew what it meant to be a warrior.

“Cats in the stars?” he asked sharply. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Cherry mewed. “I’ve listened to him often enough.”

“And if he did have anything to do with those other cats,” her brother added, “they can’t have been very fierce. Moony never fights back, whatever—”

He broke off as his sister gave him a sharp prod with one paw and hissed, “Mouse-brain!”

Firestar would have liked to cuff both young cats around the ears, but when he met Sandstorm’s gaze, she shook her head. Regretfully, Firestar admitted she was right. They would get more out of the kittypets if they didn’t scare them.

“Moony hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?” Firestar asked, deliberately making his voice gentle. “He hasn’t hurt you or stolen your food?”

Both kittypets shook their heads, not meeting his gaze.

“Then you should leave him alone.”

The two kittypets exchanged a guilty glance. “I told you this wasn’t Moony!” Cherry hissed to her brother. “The moon isn’t full yet.”

“Well, how was I to know?” Boris complained. “No other cats have ever come here.”

“Never mind that.” Firestar interrupted their argument before it had a chance to get properly started. “What can you tell us about Moony? Where does he live when he isn’t here?”

Cherry shrugged. “Dunno.”

“He must come from farther up the gorge,” Boris offered, waving his dark-striped tail in that direction. “We’d have noticed if he came up the river.”

“And that’s all you can tell us?” Sandstorm leaned forward and fixed both young cats with a penetrating green gaze.

“That’s really all.” Boris’s yellow eyes widened. “Can we go now?”

“I think they can, don’t you, Firestar?”

Firestar paused for a couple of heartbeats, long enough for the two young cats to understand that they weren’t getting off too lightly. “I suppose so,” he mewed at last. “But no more tormenting defenseless cats, okay?”

“We won’t!” Boris promised. He prodded his sister.

“Will we?”

“No, not anymore.” Cherry flattened her ears. “We just didn’t think…”

“Next time, try not to be so mouse-brained,” Firestar meowed, drawing aside to leave a narrow tunnel through the undergrowth. “Off you go.”

Relief flooded the eyes of both young cats. They crept hesitantly past Firestar, as if they weren’t completely sure his claws would stay sheathed. Once they were safely past him, they shouldered their way out of the thicket and broke into a run.

As Cherry dashed past the tree where Firestar had hidden, she gave a tremendous leap, batting at the lowest branch. Leaves showered down on her brother as he bounded after her.

Firestar and Sandstorm followed the kittypets to the edge of the bushes and watched them racing back to Twolegplace, their tails held high.

“They’re not bad, for kittypets,” Sandstorm commented.

“Cherry’s got spirit, at least.”

Firestar suspected that the young tortoiseshell reminded Sandstorm of her apprentice, Sorrelpaw. “They’ve both got spirit,” he responded. “It’s a pity they can’t be apprenticed in a proper Clan.”

“Well, they can’t,” Sandstorm meowed. “Not unless we can find SkyClan. They left here a long time ago, by the sound of it.”

“Except for Moony.” Firestar felt excitement prickling through his pelt again. “A cat who gazes at the full moon and talks about cats in the stars… He’s a Clan cat, Sandstorm; he must be!”

Sandstorm nodded, a glow in her green eyes. “Then that’s our next job. We’ve got to find him.”

“To think I complained it was too hot!” Sandstorm exclaimed.

She and Firestar had finished their hunt and eaten, and were heading along the top of the gorge in search of Moony.

The dawn mist had turned to a fine, cold drizzle, soaking the cats’ fur. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and Firestar couldn’t see clearly more than a few fox-lengths ahead.

“This is no good,” he meowed. “It’s just the same as when we were looking for the SkyClan camp. If we stay up here, we’ll never find the place where Moony is living.”

Sandstorm sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Climbing down was even harder when the rocks were slippery with rain and the bottom of the gorge was still shrouded in mist. Firestar led the way, scrambling over boulders and slithering down loose pebbles until they reached the narrow valley above the rocks where the river poured out. The path was sticky with mud, covering the cats’ legs and splashing up into their belly fur. They plodded along uncomfortably, peering through the rain at the sides of the gorge to find any trace of the old cat.

“There’s a slit in that rock.” Sandstorm pointed with her tail. “Maybe it leads to a cave.” She splashed away from the path to investigate and splashed back almost at once. “No good,” she reported. “It’s not wide enough for my whiskers. A cat could never live in there.”

Firestar wondered whether a cat could live in this barren place at all, but as he and Sandstorm trudged along he began to spot stunted bushes here and there, and scent faint traces of prey. Some of the rainwater had collected in puddles among the boulders.

“This place would support one or two cats,” he meowed.

“But it’s a pretty miserable place to live, all the same.”

“Especially on your own,” Sandstorm agreed. “If Moony is a bit weird, no cat could blame him.”

The cats passed more slits in the gorge wall, but they were all too shallow or too narrow for a cat to live in comfortably.

Firestar began to wonder how much farther they would have to go, or whether they had already missed Moony’s home.

Gradually a breeze sprang up, wafting billows of rain into their faces. Firestar shivered.

“For StarClan’s sake, let’s look for shelter,” Sandstorm mewed. “We’ll never find him in this.”

Not waiting for Firestar’s agreement, she splashed up to another of the narrow caves and slipped inside it. There was just enough room for Firestar to squeeze in beside her, their sodden pelts pressed together. But in spite of his drenched, mud-plastered fur and his sore paws, he felt more hopeful than he had for a long time. At last they had news of a real

Clan cat, and sooner or later they had to find him.

He drowsed uneasily and woke to feel Sandstorm’s tail flicking over his ear. She was standing outside the cave, looking down at him. “Come on,” she meowed. “The rain’s stopped.”

Creeping stiffly out of the cave, Firestar looked up and saw that the clouds were parting. A watery sun shone down into the gorge. The breeze ruffled his damp fur, showering him with a few last drops of rain.

“That’s better,” he meowed. “Let’s get moving.”

“In a moment,” Sandstorm replied. “I want a drink first.”

“Haven’t you had enough water?” Firestar asked, as he followed her to a pool in a hollow between two twisted thorn trees.

At the edge of the pool Sandstorm froze, staring down at the ground in front of her paws. “Firestar, look!”

He bounded over. There in the newly wet mud at the edge of the pool were the pawprints of a cat! They were crisp and fresh, larger than his prints or Sandstorm’s.

“They could be Moony’s!” Sandstorm exclaimed. “Or at least, a cat who might know where to find him. And they must have been made recently—since the rain stopped.”

Firestar lashed his tail. If they hadn’t gone to sleep in the cave, they might have spotted the cat when it came to drink.

“Whoever it is, they might still be close by,” he meowed.

“You search that side of the gorge, and I’ll look on this side.”

He padded slowly along the base of the cliff, alert for any more footprints or the scent of a cat. Then Sandstorm let out a yowl and signaled with her tail. “Over here!”

Firestar bounded across to her. Before he reached her he began to pick up a strong, fresh scent. “I’m sure that’s the same scent that was in the cave where we’ve been sleeping,” he meowed.

Sandstorm nodded, tasting the air again. “It was stale there, but it’s the same cat. It must be Moony who made those prints.”

Following the scent, Firestar reached a narrow path that wound behind a huge boulder. The cats could barely squeeze between the rock and the cliff face. On the other side of the boulder the path led steeply upward until it reached a gnarled tree clinging to the side of the cliff. Firestar scrabbled his way up to it, showers of pebbles pattering down under his paws.

Sandstorm followed a tail-length behind.

Drawing closer to the tree, Firestar saw that its roots arched out of the reddish stone, forming a den of hard, twisted branches. Outside was a scattering of bones and scraps of fur and a bundle of soiled moss. The cat scent was stronger still.

“This is it,” he panted, glancing over his shoulder at Sandstorm. “This must be where Moony lives.”

As he began to climb farther up, a dark gray shape shot out from beneath the roots. “Get away from here!” he snarled.

“Leave me alone! Haven’t you tormented me enough?”