Firestar’s Quest

Chapter 33

Firestar opened his eyes to see a pale light glimmering all around him. At first he thought he was still in the barn. But he couldn’t understand the silence, and the lack of any scent of rat.

After a moment’s struggle he managed to sit up, and realized that he was in the Whispering Cave, the mosses glowing eerily around him and the underground river sliding past on its way to the opening.

How did I get here? he wondered.

Then he saw that he was not alone. The ancient SkyClan leader was sitting at the other side of the cave. “Greetings,” he meowed.

Firestar began to understand. “Have I lost another life?” he rasped.

The SkyClan leader bowed his head. Now Firestar could make out the outline of a flame-colored cat just behind him in the shadows. His pelt and his green eyes glowed; Firestar recognized himself as the shape dipped his head slightly.

Firestar staggered to his paws. “Let me go back,” he begged the SkyClan cat. “I’ve got to help Rainfur. I’ve got to save 4 6 1

SkyClan—isn’t that what you want?”

The SkyClan ancestor rose and padded across the cave to Firestar. His scent was a mingling of frost and wind and the night sky. Breathing it, Firestar felt energy begin to flow back into his aching, exhausted limbs.

“Go now,” the SkyClan cat murmured. “And may my strength go with you.”

The pale light of the mosses faded, and for a heartbeat Firestar hung in a dark void. Then he felt a paw shaking his shoulder and heard Sandstorm’s voice. “Firestar! Firestar!”

He blinked awake to see his mate crouched over him, anguish in her green eyes. “Firestar!” she repeated. “Get up—the rats are coming.”

Firestar raised his head to find himself lying on the ground outside the barn. His chest was matted with blood that had flowed from the wound in his throat.

Rats were already swarming through the gap in the barn wall. Sandstorm shoved Firestar to his feet, and with Leafdapple supporting him on the other side, he managed to stagger as far as a stunted tree, several tail-lengths from the fence. The rest of the cats had already scrambled into its branches, all except Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw, who waited at the bottom.

“Climb!” Cherrypaw urged as Firestar and the other she-cats limped up. “Don’t wait for us. We can leap up after.”

“No…” Firestar tried to hold back. “We’ll be trapped. We have to get out through the fence.”

Sparrowpaw waved his tail. “Have you seen it?”

Firestar’s heart sank. All along the line of the fence, clustering most thickly around the gap the cats had used to get in, were hordes of rats. Their eyes seemed to glitter with triumph. They had the cats trapped now, with all the time in the world to finish them off. The only possible safety, for a short while, was this tree.

Firestar clawed his way up the trunk and found a space to crouch on a broad branch. Looking around, he spotted Shortwhisker, Sharpclaw, Clovertail…

“Rainfur?” He gasped. “Where’s Rainfur?”

“I’m sorry.” Sandstorm clung to the branch beside him.

“Rainfur didn’t make it.”

Firestar’s gaze flew to the barn and he tensed his muscles, half prepared to spring down and battle his way back inside to help the warrior.

“It’s no use, Firestar.” Sandstorm rested her tail tip gently on his shoulder. “Rainfur is dead.” Pain throbbed through her voice as she added, “I could save only one of you, Firestar, and I had to choose you.”

Firestar remembered how he and Rainfur had rescued Petalnose, and how Rainfur had saved him from falling into the gorge when the rats attacked the camp the night before.

He remembered the great future he had foreseen for the gray warrior. Now he was dead, and the remnants of SkyClan were huddled in this tree while rats swarmed over the ground below, just waiting to finish them off. Firestar had failed: failed the Clan, and Skywatcher, and the SkyClan ancestor who had sent him here. The fifth forest Clan would be destroyed all over again. Sighing, Firestar rested his head against Sandstorm’s flank, too weary to move.

“We can’t give up!” It was Leafdapple, speaking from a branch just above Firestar’s head. “Are we going to let Rainfur die for nothing?” When no cat answered her, she went on. “The rats have no more right to live here than we do. Aren’t we going to fight for what’s ours?”

Firestar looked up to see the tabby she-cat standing commandingly on her branch. Her eyes glowed with courage.

Around her the other cats were stirring, seeming to catch something of the fire that blazed within her.

“I’ll fight with you,” Sharpclaw snarled. “They’ll kill us anyway, but I’ll take a few of them with me.”

A chorus of voices rose up around Firestar, vowing to fight on, whatever happened. Even Shortwhisker agreed, though his fur was bristling and his eyes were blank with terror.

“We’re a Clan now,” Clovertail declared, “and this is where we belong. We’ve got to fight for that.”

Firestar hauled himself to his feet, digging his claws into the branch. His head was clearing now, and the strength of his next life flowed into his limbs—the strength of the SkyClan ancestor who had brought him here believing that he would not fail.

“I honor your courage,” he meowed. “And I’ll fight with you. You can have all my lives and all my strength if it will help you beat these rats.”

He was aware of Sandstorm’s ears pricking in surprise, but he meant every word. This was the right thing to do by the warrior code. For tonight, he was not the leader of ThunderClan, but a member of SkyClan.

“But what are we going to do?” Patchfoot asked in a small voice.

Firestar looked down. The tree was surrounded by sinuous rat bodies, their sharp eyes fixed on the warriors who had taken refuge in the branches. Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw still stood at its foot, ready to spring up to join their Clanmates if the rats attacked.

But the rats seemed to be in no hurry. Firestar could tell they thought the battle was over, and they could wipe out the remaining cats as slowly as they wished.

“The rats are acting together,” he thought out loud. “Like a swarm of bees or a pack of dogs. Last night they stopped attacking us and all turned tail at once. Something is controlling them. They must be taking orders from the leading rat.”

“So kill him,” Sharpclaw hissed, flexing his claws, “and the rest of them will flee.”

“I hope so,” Firestar replied grimly.

“That’s all very well,” Patchfoot meowed. “But how do we tell which one is the leader? They all look the same to me.”

Firestar thought back to the last heartbeats of his previous life, when he had faced the rat leader inside the barn. His neck fur bristled at the memory of the malignant eyes and the hoarse voice telling him to die.

“Only the leader can speak the tongue of cats,” he meowed. “If we can make him talk to us, we’ll know which one he is.”

“And then…” Sharpclaw slashed one paw, claws extended, through the air.

Firestar glanced around. The SkyClan warriors were ready for action now, their eyes eager, their wounds and weariness forgotten. Even Shortwhisker seemed to have pulled back from the brink of his panic.

“We’ll have to climb down,” he began. “The rats will sit there forever if we stay up this tree.”

Taking the lead, he scrambled down to the cold, hard ground, landing beside the two apprentices. The rest of the Clan followed him in silence and stood gazing out across the mass of rats. Firestar noticed that the SkyClan descendants—Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw, Shortwhisker and Sharpclaw—moved into position on the outside of the little group, as if they meant to protect their Clanmates who couldn’t escape up the tree so easily.

As they descended, a ripple passed through the crowd of rats, and they edged a little nearer. Firestar raised his head and faced them.

“You’re brave enough when you’re all together,” he taunted them. “But I bet you wouldn’t be so brave on your own. I don’t suppose even your clever leader would come out and face me.”

Not a rat moved.

“Cowards!” Sharpclaw sneered. “Crow-food-eating, skulking vermin!”

“Come and fight!” Firestar hurled the challenge against a wall of silence. Panic began to prickle in his fur. The leading rat was obviously clever enough not to show himself.

The cats pressed their backs to the tree as the rats crept a little nearer. Another few heartbeats, Firestar thought, and they would surge forward. The SkyClan cats would fight on for a little while, but sooner or later they would be overwhelmed. Once more SkyClan would become nothing more than a memory. What can I do? he asked himself, anguished.

Then a familiar scent drifted around him, and his paws tingled. Spottedleaf? He glanced from side to side, but there was no sign of the tortoiseshell she-cat. Only a soft voice that murmured in his ear: Not many, but one.

Then the sense of her presence faded. Wait! Firestar protested in his head. I don’t understand! How could Spottedleaf say that there were not many rats here?

He stared out at his enemies, the moonlight washing over them so that their bodies merged together like ripples on a lake. And as he watched the tide ebb and flow, he began to realize what Spottedleaf had meant. He had thought of the rats as a swarm of bees or a dog pack, taking their orders from their leader, but Spottedleaf had shown him it was more than that. These creatures were like a single enemy; the individual rats had no minds of their own. They took their orders from one rat alone, passed from body to body in visible signals, a twitch of fur or flick of tail, the brush of one flank against another. If he watched the ripples, they should lead him to the rat he was looking for.

The rats edged a little closer. Firestar was aware of Sandstorm beside him, her pelt brushing his, her claws digging into the tree root where she stood poised to spring. Hardly daring to breathe, he stared out at the rats, knowing that they could strike at any moment. He forced himself to stop looking at one pair of eyes here, a snakelike tail there, and studied them like the surface of a single lake.

Icy claws pricked his spine. Sure enough, he could make out tiny stirrings of movement circling a central point, the place from where the leader’s silent commands rippled outward. And at that central point, a single rat gazed toward the besieged cats.

Firestar narrowed his eyes. There was no time to explain what he was doing to the rest of the patrol. He had just one chance, one chance to ensure that he had not traveled here in vain, and SkyClan would live on. Unsheathing his claws, he leaped, legs outstretched, into the middle of the mass of rats.

Horrified wails rose from the cats behind him. He heard Sandstorm screech, “Firestar!”

Her voice was drowned out by the single shriek that rose from the throats of every rat, and they rushed upon him like a thick brown wave. But Firestar’s claws struck their target, tearing at the throat of the rat at the center of the tide. He gazed into the small, hate-filled eyes, and saw their hatred change to terror before the light faded from them. The rat’s head dropped back and its body went limp.

For a heartbeat Firestar stood still, his paws sticky with blood. Rats milled around him, squeaking and hissing in confusion. With their leader dead, they did not know what to do next.

“Follow me! Attack!” The yowl came from Sharpclaw, and suddenly Firestar’s Clanmates were all around him, claws lashing at their enemies. Gibbering in terror, the rats fled back toward the barn, scrabbling at the shiny walls in their efforts to get in and hide. The SkyClan cats raced past Firestar, dealing a death blow to any rat too slow to get out of their way.

“Stay away from us!” Sharpclaw screeched after them.

“The gorge is ours. We’ll kill any rats who set paw there!”

Leafdapple halted at the gap, stopping the rest of the SkyClan cats from following the rats inside. “Let them go,” she meowed. “They’re not dangerous anymore. Not now.”

She padded back to Firestar, who still stood over the body of his dead enemy, and bowed her head in deepest gratitude.

“The battle is won. Thanks to you, SkyClan is safe.”

When the rats had fled, Firestar ventured into the barn with Sharpclaw and Leafdapple. Two or three rats were still visible, sniffing at the bodies of their dead companions, but when they spotted the cats they let out squeals of alarm and scurried into the shelter of the Twoleg rubbish at the far end of the barn.

Rainfur’s body lay stretched out on the floor. Dead rats lay all around him, and his claws were still fastened in the throat of one of them. His gray fur was torn with wounds.

“He died like a warrior,” Leafdapple murmured.

“We’ll carry him back to the gorge and sit vigil for him,” Firestar meowed.

In silence they took up his body and maneuvered it through the gap in the barn wall. The rest of the Clan clustered around them to help bear Rainfur through the fence and back across the scrubland to the gorge, under the light of the chill moon. His body drooped, his paws and tail dragging in the dust, and his fur was matted with blood.

As Sharpclaw and Leafdapple carried their dead Clanmate down the stony trail, Echosong appeared at the entrance to the nursery. “You’re back!” she exclaimed. She broke off at the sight of Rainfur’s broken body, and sorrow welled in her eyes.

“I’ll tell Petalnose,” she whispered.

She slipped around the boulder, and a moment later

Firestar heard a wail of anguish.

“Go on,” he murmured to Sharpclaw and Leafdapple. “Lay his body beside the Rockpile. I’ll join you in a few moments.”

Taking a deep breath, he padded into the nursery. Petalnose was crouched over her kits, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. Echosong pressed comfortingly against her side, but Firestar didn’t think the gray she-cat was aware of her.

“I’m sorry,” he meowed. “He died like a warrior.”

Petalnose shivered and focused her eyes on him. “He died protecting what he loved most,” she whispered. “Me, and his kits, and his new Clan.”

Firestar tried to find words that would comfort her. “He hunts with his ancestors now.”

Petalnose’s eyes were bleak, and she did not respond. Firestar dared not say any more. This young Clan had no experience of their ancestors yet, so how could Petalnose have faith that Rainfur had found anything after his death?

“He was a brave cat,” he mewed instead. “I’m honored to have known him.”

As the night went on, the Clan gathered around the body of Rainfur to keep vigil for him. Echosong guided Petalnose and her two kits down from the nursery, and the she-cat crouched beside her mate, pushing her nose into his cold gray fur. Sagekit and Mintkit huddled on each side of her, while Echosong sat at Rainfur’s head, her gaze fixed on the distant stars.

Remembering the fidgety, superstitious vigil for Skywatcher, Firestar realized how far the Clan had moved on. Now there was a genuine sense of loss and respect for the fallen warrior.

But his heart ached when he reminded himself that rebuilding the Clan had led directly to Rainfur’s death. If he had decided to remain a rogue, he would still be alive.

Restlessness pricked at Firestar’s paws, and as the sky turned gray with the first light of dawn, he climbed up the trail to the Skyrock and sat alone, looking down into the gorge. Have I done the right thing? Since being here he had learned so much about himself and what it meant to be a Clan leader, but that wasn’t why he had come. Was it fair to ask these cats to give up their lives for the warrior code, when they had lived happily and peacefully before?

A sweet scent drifted around him, the only scent that could comfort him now. A pelt brushed against his, and a voice murmured in his ear.

“Don’t grieve,” Sandstorm whispered. “You have saved SkyClan.”

“But Rainfur’s dead.”

“I know. But the SkyClan cats made their own decision to fight for the gorge, and the warrior code—and their Clan. The battle has brought them together as nothing else could have.”

Firestar shifted uneasily, wanting to believe what his mate said, wanting to believe that what had been won was worth Rainfur’s death.

“Life can’t go on without death,” Sandstorm went on.

“Rainfur died like the greatest warrior, fighting for his Clan.

Wherever his warrior ancestors are, they will have been watching, and will be waiting for him now.”

“I know.” Sandstorm’s words eased some of the pain in his heart, but Firestar knew that many moons would pass before he could forget the sight of Rainfur’s body surrounded by his dead enemies, knowing that he had led the gray cat there to die.