Firestar’s Quest

Chapter 22

“Firestar! Firestar!”

Firestar opened his eyes to see the dark shapes of two cats outlined against the light in the cave entrance. “For StarClan’s sake, what’s the matter?” he grumbled, scrambling to his paws.

As the two cats bounced into the cave he could make them out more clearly: Cherry and Boris, their ears pricked and their eyes bright.

“We want another hunting lesson!” Cherry announced.

“Please,” her brother added, giving her a nudge.

Sandstorm was stirring too, her green eyes no more than slits. She stretched her jaws in a huge yawn. “I thought all kittypets slept until sunhigh,” she grunted, crawling out of her nest and giving herself a shake.

“Sometimes we do,” meowed Boris. “But it was so exciting yesterday, and—”

“We had such fun!” Cherry interrupted. “You will take us with you today, won’t you?”

Their enthusiasm surprised Firestar, but it pleased him too. A sudden pang of homesickness struck him: these two 2 6 9

young cats could easily have been ThunderClan apprentices, begging to be taken out on a hunting patrol.

“We can take one each,” Sandstorm suggested with another yawn. “We’ll split up; too many cats together will scare off all the prey.”

“True,” Firestar agreed. “Especially here, where there’s so little cover. You take Boris, and I’ll have Cherry.”

The young tortoiseshell gave an excited little bounce. “I bet we catch more prey than you!” she boasted to her brother.

With Boris following her, Sandstorm left the cave and took the trail that led to the thickets at the top of the cliff.

Firestar led Cherry in the other direction, down to the river.

The sun had risen into a blue sky dotted with white clouds.

Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the water, but the day was still cool. A fresh breeze rippled Firestar’s fur.

“Are we going back to where we hunted yesterday?”

Cherry asked excitedly.

Firestar paused halfway down the trail. They would find plenty of prey downstream, but he couldn’t forget the sense of cold malice that he had felt there the day before. Even though he knew they couldn’t afford to abandon a good hunting ground, he wasn’t in any hurry to meet what lay behind those invisible watching eyes.

“No,” he decided. “We’ll go upstream instead today.”

For a heartbeat Cherry looked as if she might argue, then obviously thought better of it. Firestar picked his way down to the tumbled rocks where the river welled out into the light.

As he leaped the last tail-length to the ground, he set one paw on a sharp chip of rock; pain stabbed through his pad like a claw. Letting out a hiss of anger, he paused to give the injured pad a quick lick. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was sore enough to make him limp.

Cherry had bounded ahead, but when she realized Firestar wasn’t with her, she came running back. “What’s the matter?”

Firestar looked at her. “Aren’t your pads sore?”

Cherry shook her head, and lifted one paw to show him.

Her pads were tougher than his, with hard gray skin good for walking on rocks. Ruefully Firestar showed Cherry his own pads, the soft black skin scarred and rubbed raw from the rough ground.

Cherry blinked in surprise. “I never thought a cat’s pads could get like that!”

“Remember, I don’t come from around here,” Firestar explained. “I’m more used to walking on soft forest ground.”

He wondered if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Should he tell Cherry about her ancestry? She would need to know if she was ever to become a SkyClan warrior.

He took a deep breath. “You remember that I told you how you inherited your ability to jump from your ancestors?

Well, you inherited your strong paws from them too. Your ancestors were able to settle here because they had the right kind of bodies and the right skills.”

The young tortoiseshell stared at him, her eyes stretched wide. “Do you mean that? You’re not just telling a story?”

“No, it’s true.”

“How do you know so much about my ancestors?”

With a wave of his tail, Firestar led her into a patch of shade cast by a scrubby thorn tree at the foot of the cliff.

When they were sitting side by side, their pelts brushing, he told her about the forest where he came from, and how four Clans of cats lived there.

“Once there were five Clans, but the fifth Clan, SkyClan, was sent away a long, long time ago. The cats came here and settled in the caves, but then they broke up and scattered.

There’s no SkyClan anymore, but some cats—like you and Boris—are descended from the original Clan.”

Cherry’s whiskers quivered with excitement. “Wow!”

“Look.” Firestar pointed with his tail to the caves in the cliff face and the stony trails that connected them. “This was the SkyClan camp. The warriors lived in the cave where Sandstorm and I sleep. That cave there with the boulder at the entrance was the nursery—”

“Yes, I can see there’s room for lots of cats,” Cherry interrupted. “But why are you telling me all this?”

“Because Sky believes—”

The young tortoiseshell blinked. “Sky? Who’s Sky?”

“The cat you call Moony,” Firestar meowed. “Yes, the one you were so rude to. His real name is Sky. He is the last warrior of SkyClan—and he’s your kin.”

Cherry’s fur fluffed up and her eyes stretched wider than ever. “Our kin? But we’re kittypets!”

“You and Sky are all descended from the cats of SkyClan.

And that’s why I have come here—to find the scattered Clan and rebuild it.”

“Starting with me and Boris?” Cherry’s voice was a squeak of surprise.

Firestar suppressed a mrrow of amusement. “You’ll have to make your own minds up about that,” he replied. “I’ll show you as much of Clan life and the warrior code as I can, and then you must decide.”

For once Cherry was silent. Her gaze traveled up the cliff face where the caves were. Firestar wondered if she was trying to imagine what it would be like to live there with a whole Clan of cats.

And he realized that somehow, without consciously making the decision, he had accepted that he must stay.

They returned to the warriors’ cave at sunhigh, laden with fresh-kill. The gorge basked in the heat like a huge, sandy-furred animal. Firestar winced as he set down his pads on the hot rock, but Cherry ran ahead without seeming to notice.

Sandstorm and Boris had already returned. They sat beside a small pile of fresh-kill; Boris was gulping down a sparrow.

Cherry pattered across the cave and dropped her prey on the pile. “Guess what, Boris? We’re not kittypets at all! We’re from SkyClan! They came from the forest where Firestar and Sandstorm live, all the way down the river, and they made their camp here. They—”

“Sandstorm told me too,” Boris interrupted. His amber eyes shone with excitement. “She says we can be SkyClan warriors if we want.”

“You’d make good warriors,” Sandstorm put in, with an approving glance at the young tabby tom. “Boris hunted really well today.”

“So did Cherry.” Firestar twitched his ears toward the fresh-kill pile. “Go on; help yourself.”

Cherry seized a mouse and began to devour it ravenously.

Both cats seemed to have forgotten their worries about not being able to manage their Twoleg food as well.

“That tasted great!” Boris finished his sparrow and cleaned his whiskers with one paw. “Can we come again tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Sandstorm replied. “You’ll have to, if you want to learn about the warrior code.”

“We do!” Cherry meowed enthusiastically.

“Just a moment.” Firestar padded across the cave and sat down in front of the two young cats. “You do realize that the warrior code isn’t just about having fun? It’s a way of life. You can’t live with your housefolk and pop to the gorge whenever you feel like it. If you want to be warriors, this has to be your home.”

“Leave our housefolk?” Boris looked up from his sparrow, his eyes huge and serious. “I don’t know… they’re kind and they feed us, and they’d worry about us if we went away.”

“But if we’re really SkyClan cats, then this is where we need to live,” Cherry argued. She gave her brother a nudge.

“Come on! Don’t you want to stay out as long as we want, even when it’s dark? Wouldn’t you rather eat mice and squirrels than that stupid kittypet food?”

Firestar exchanged a glance with Sandstorm. Cherry couldn’t understand yet what it truly meant to be a warrior.

In leaf-bare, with prey scarce and snow on the ground, she might have second thoughts.

“You don’t have to make your minds up yet,” he went on; he felt he had to warn her, even though he didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. “Living by the warrior code can be hard.”

“But you said we’ve got the right sort of bodies.” Cherry gave her brother another vigorous nudge, so he almost top-pled over. “You know you want to do this, don’t you?”

“I guess…” Boris was still thoughtful. Then he rose to his paws, a determined look in his eyes. “Well, I’ll give it a try.”

“Me too!” Cherry sprang up, gulping down the last mouthful of prey. “Come on, Boris. We can practice stalking in our garden.”

Both young cats charged out of the cave. A heartbeat later, Cherry whisked back to mew, “Thanks! Bye!” and vanished again.

Sandstorm’s green eyes glinted with amusement. “It looks as if we’ve found our first two apprentices.”

Firestar and Sandstorm slept through the heat of the day.

When the shadows were gathering, they set off to explore farther up the gorge.

“Sky showed us the downstream borders of the territory,” Firestar meowed, “but he never told us how far it stretches in this direction.”

“We could ask him.”

Firestar glanced across to the other side of the gorge. They were just passing the huge boulder that hid the twisting path to Sky’s den among the roots of the thorn tree. There was no sign of the old cat, and Firestar didn’t want to go looking for him. He wanted more to report than a couple of possible apprentices before he talked to Sky again.

“Let’s see what we can find for ourselves,” he mewed.

The gorge grew narrower until a cat could almost have leaped from one side to the other. The sky above their heads was still bright, but little sunlight penetrated between the soaring cliffs on either side. The ground beneath their paws was dry and sandy, and the air was still.

Suddenly Sandstorm checked. “Fox!”

At the same instant the reek flooded over Firestar, and he heard a drawn-out snarling from the shadows ahead. It was followed by the screech of a cat.

“Come on!” Firestar’s paws flew over the ground, his sore pads forgotten.

Sandstorm raced beside him. Around the next curve in the gorge, they saw the fox. It stood stiff-legged, its lips drawn back to bare sharp fangs. Firestar guessed it was starving; its ribs stuck out from a thin, ragged pelt.

In front of the fox crouched a pale brown she-cat; her fur bristled defiantly, but her eyes were wide with fear. Behind her was a pile of sandy rocks surrounded by thick thornbushes. Firestar spotted a dark opening in the rocks, and heard the mewling of terrified kits.

“She’s protecting her kits!” Sandstorm gasped.

Firestar let out a yowl and flung himself on the fox. It turned on him, its jaws snapping for his throat. Sandstorm dashed in and raked her claws down its other side before it spun around and batted her away with one paw. Spitting with rage, Firestar leaped for its shoulder, snagging his claws in its pelt and trying to bury his teeth in its neck.

Even though the fox was starving, it could still fight furiously, or perhaps hunger had maddened it. Lashing its head from side to side, it dropped to the ground, trying to crush Firestar beneath it. His muzzle was buried in its fur; its hot scent was all around him as he struggled to breathe. He felt the sharp pain of claws in his belly. With a massive heave he managed to break free and scramble to his paws. Blood from his wound spattered in the sand, and his legs felt unsteady.

Sandstorm attacked again, darting rapidly in and out to deal a swift blow before the fox could retaliate, in an effort to lead it away from the kits. The she-cat still crouched in the mouth of the den, protecting her litter. With another vicious snarl the fox lunged for Sandstorm and grabbed her by the hind leg. Sandstorm let out a shriek of pain. Firestar staggered toward them, but pain blurred his vision, and though he clawed at the fox’s haunches he couldn’t get any strength behind the blow.

StarClan, help us!

A yowl sounded from farther down the gorge. Another cat was racing to join the battle; it was the dark ginger tom who had been hunting among the bushes downstream.

Letting out another furious screech, the rogue sprang up onto the rocks above the mouth of the den. He clung there for a couple of heartbeats, his claws gripping the rough surface, then hurled himself down to land on the fox’s head.

The fox let out a squeal of pain and released Sandstorm.

She leaped up on three paws and flung herself back into the battle, scoring a deep gash down the fox’s side. Firestar’s head was clearing now; he bit down on the fox’s tail and heard it shriek.

The rogue was balanced on the fox’s head, the claws of all four paws sunk deep into its fur. Blood welled from the scratches and began to trickle into the creature’s eyes.

Suddenly it gave up and began to stumble away. The ginger tom jumped down, and Firestar aimed a final blow at the fox’s haunches as it limped into the shadows.

Breathing heavily, the three cats gazed at one another.

“Thanks,” Firestar panted. “That could have been nasty if you hadn’t turned up.”

“Don’t thank me.” The tomcat narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like foxes any more than you do. You look a bit battered,” he added, his gaze flicking from Firestar to Sandstorm and back again.

Sandstorm flexed her injured leg and put her paw to the ground. “I’ll be okay.”

Firestar examined his belly wound, drawing his tongue a few times over the blood-soaked fur. To his relief, the scratch wasn’t deep, and the bleeding had already stopped. “We’ll be fine,” he meowed. “We needed a fight to liven us up.” To his surprise, he realized that was true; for several days now he and Sandstorm had done little except rest in the warriors’ cave and occasionally hunt. Now he felt more alive, more like a true Clan warrior.

“You’re all so brave! Thank you so much! You saved my kits.”

Firestar turned to see the pale brown she-cat guiding three kits toward them, her tail curled protectively around them: a black tom, a ginger tom, and a tiny white she-cat.

“I’m Clover,” the she-cat announced, “and these are Rock, Bounce, and Tiny.”

Sandstorm dipped her head. “I’m Sandstorm, and this is Firestar.”

Firestar turned to the other rogue, waiting for him to introduce himself. Instead, he met a challenging gaze from green eyes that sparked with intelligence. “Names are easy,” the ginger tom meowed, “but who are you? What are you doing here, and how long do you mean to stay?”

For a few moments Firestar was taken aback. The questions, and the cat’s authoritative tone, reminded him of how he might have spoken if he had come across rogues in ThunderClan territory.

“I saw you farther down the gorge,” he began.

“And I saw you.” The ginger tom’s ears flattened. “You were hunting with those two crazy kittypets. Why do you want to bother with them?”

“Cherry and Boris are okay,” Sandstorm mewed defensively.

“What does it matter why they’re here?” Clover broke in.

“The fox would have eaten my kits if they hadn’t come along!”

“I was here, wasn’t I?” the ginger tom growled. He unsheathed powerful claws and dug them into the sandy earth. “I can see off any fox that’s ever been born.” His gaze rested on Firestar again. “So, what’s your story?”

“You won’t go yet, will you?” Clover begged, with a nervous glance into the shadows. “The fox might come back.”

“We’ll stay for a while,” Sandstorm promised.

Clover lay down in the mouth of her den so that her three kits could burrow into her side and feed. The other cats settled down beside her, Firestar and Sandstorm licking their wounds in between telling the ginger tom about SkyClan.

“I’ve seen that old cat a few times,” the rogue meowed when Firestar recounted his meeting with Sky. “I’ve never spoken to him, though. He looks mad to me.”

“He’s not mad. He knows more about the lost Clan than any cat alive.” Firestar explained what Sky had told them.

“The Clan lived here many moons ago, in the caves near the rocks where the river pours out. They’re all gone now, but Sky believes that I can find their descendants and rebuild the Clan.”

Firestar was suddenly aware of how foolish he sounded. “I know it’s a big decision for any cat… ,” he went on.

“Not for me.” Clover looked up, her ears pricked. “I’d come and live in your Clan in a heartbeat. My kits’ father went away before they were born, and it’s hard bringing them up on my own.” She drew her tail more closely around her kits; by now they had finished suckling, and lay sleeping in a tricolored puddle of warm fur. “Suppose that fox comes back when you’ve gone?”

“I could look after you,” the rogue tom reminded her. “I turned up in time today, didn’t I?”

“But you hardly ever come this far up the gorge,” Clover retorted. “How often have we spoken to each other before now?” Ignoring his hiss of annoyance, she turned back to Firestar. “I’ll join the new Clan. We’ll all come back to the caves with you today.”

Firestar felt his paws tingle with excitement. A nursing queen and three kits was a valuable addition to any Clan.

“Well, that’s great. We can go now. What about you?” he added with a glance at the ginger tom. “Will you join us too?”

“I manage fine by myself, thanks.”

Firestar’s pelt prickled with disappointment. This proud, strong, intelligent cat would make a good warrior.

“Mind you,” the rogue went on, before Firestar could think of a way to persuade him, “I like the idea of training cats to defend themselves. And I liked the fighting moves you used to drive the fox away.”

“Come with us and we’ll teach you,” Firestar offered.

The ginger rogue blinked at him. “You’d really teach me everything you know?” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe cats would share battle secrets that would make them easier to fight.

“Of course,” mewed Firestar. “Clanmates don’t fight one another, except for training.”

“That could be a good way to live,” the rogue meowed.

“Then you’ll come?” Sandstorm asked eagerly.

The rogue hesitated, then dipped his head. “I’ll give it a try. But I’m not promising to stay for good.”

“We won’t ask you to decide that yet,” mewed Firestar.

“Just come to the caves for a while, and find out more about what it means to live in a Clan.”

“And tell us your name, please,” Sandstorm added.

For a few heartbeats the ginger tom was silent, staring into the distance. “Living alone, a cat doesn’t need a name, but now… A long time ago, I think my mother called me Scratch.”

The waning moon floated above the gorge, shedding pale light over the Skyrock. Firestar jumped over the cleft and stood back to wait for Sandstorm.

“Well?” he asked when his mate had landed by his side.

“What do you think? Have we got the makings of a new Clan?”

Sandstorm sat down and gave her chest fur a few quick licks.

“It’s a start,” she mewed, “but there’s a long way to go yet.”

“I know,” Firestar replied. “I’m afraid Scratch will decide not to stay. He didn’t want to sleep in the warriors’ cave with us tonight. He’s still thinking like a rogue.”

“Give him time. What worries me,” Sandstorm went on, drawing one paw over her ear, “is the way Clover wants to be looked after the whole time. I tried to tell her that the proper place for her and her kits is in the nursery—I even offered to collect the moss and bracken for her—but would she listen?

She insists on sleeping in the warriors’ cave, in case the fox finds her.”

“She needs time too,” Firestar comforted her, resting his tail tip on her shoulder. “She had a nasty fright today. She’ll soon learn fighting skills, and then she’ll realize she can look after her kits herself.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sandstorm meowed.

Firestar heard the sound of pawsteps on the trail leading up to the Skyrock. He glanced down, half prepared to see Scratch, but to his surprise the cat who came into sight was Sky.

“What’s he doing here?” he murmured to Sandstorm.

“The moon isn’t full.”

Moonlight turned the old cat’s gray pelt to silver; he walked with his head raised proudly, like a true warrior of SkyClan. As he approached the Skyrock, he quickened his pace, and leaped across without hesitation to land on the smooth surface.

“Greetings, Sky.” Firestar and Sandstorm dipped their heads to him.

The old cat returned their greeting with a brief nod. “I saw more cats arrive today.”

“That’s right.” Firestar expected Sky to sound more pleased, but there was a wary glitter in his eyes. “I think we might be on the way to rebuilding SkyClan.”

A low growl rumbled in Sky’s throat. “That ginger rogue would tear your throat out as soon as look at you. And as for those kittypets! I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with them.”

“The kittypets will be fine,” Sandstorm mewed. “They’re young; they’ve got lots of time to learn. And they’re true SkyClan cats! Have you seen how high they can leap?”

Sky just sniffed.

“And Scratch—that’s the ginger rogue’s name,” Firestar went on, “is tough and a fighter, and once he’s learned about the warrior code, he’ll be just the sort of cat a Clan needs.”

To his relief the old cat nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” he mewed grudgingly. “At least you’re keeping your promise.”

He raised his head to the glitter of Silverpelt above them.

Following his gaze, Firestar wondered if the SkyClan ancestor was watching. Are you pleased too? he wondered. Is this what you wanted from me?

There was no answer, nothing but the distant blaze of stars.