The Darkest Hour

Chapter 9

Firestar made his way thoughtfully back into the camp. Glancing around, he caught sight of Darkstripe gulping down a piece of fresh-kill beside the nettle patch. Mousefur, Goldenflower, and Frostfur were eating close by, but Firestar noticed that they had all turned their backs on Darkstripe and were not looking at him.

Graystripe must have already begun to spread the news of what had happened in the ravine. Frostfur and Goldenflower in particular, who had both raised kits of their own, would be horrified by the very suspicion that a Clan warrior would murder a kit. It was a good sign, Firestar realized, if they seemed to believe Graystripe’s version of events. It showed that his friend was becoming accepted by the Clan again, beginning to recover the popularity he had once had.

Firestar was heading toward Graystripe when movement by the warriors’ den caught his eye. Brackenfur was just emerging from between the branches, gazing wildly around. He spotted Darkstripe, took a step toward him, and then veered away to join Firestar.

“I’ve just heard!” he gasped. “Firestar, I’m sorry. He got away from me. This is all my fault!”

“Steady.” Firestar let his tail rest a moment on the agitated young warrior’s shoulder, gesturing for calm. “Tell me what happened.”

Brackenfur took a couple of gulping breaths, struggling for self-control. “Darkstripe said he was going out to hunt,” he began. “I went with him, but when we got into the forest he said he had to make dirt. He went behind a bush and I waited for him. He was taking a long time, so I went to look—and he’d gone!” His eyes stretched wide with dismay. “If Sorrelkit dies, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Sorrelkit won’t die,” Firestar reassured him, though he was not certain that it was the truth. The kit was still very ill.

And now there was something else to worry about. Brackenfur’s story showed that Darkstripe had realized he was being watched. He had gotten rid of his guard very neatly. He must have had a reason, Firestar reflected. What had the dark tabby meant to do, and why had he tried to kill Sorrelkit?

“What do you want me to do now?” Brackenfur asked miserably.

“Stop blaming yourself, to begin with,” Firestar replied. “Darkstripe was bound to let us know where his loyalties lie sooner or later.”

Except for his anxiety over Sorrelkit, Firestar wasn’t sorry that Darkstripe had shown his true self in a way that no cat could ignore. Although he had hoped to keep the dark warrior in the Clan, where he could watch him for signs of treachery, now he knew that Darkstripe would never be loyal, to him or to ThunderClan, and there could be no place for a cat who would poison a defenseless kit. Let him go to Tigerstar, where he belongs, Firestar thought.

“Carry on guarding Darkstripe,” he went on to Brackenfur. “You can let him know you’re doing it now. Tell him from me he’s not to leave camp until Sorrelkit can tell her story.”

Brackenfur gave a tense nod and hurried across to the nettle patch, where he crouched beside Darkstripe and spoke to him. The warrior snarled something in reply and went back to tearing apart his piece of fresh-kill.

As Firestar watched, a pawstep sounded behind him and he turned to see Sandstorm; the ginger she-cat pressed her muzzle against his, a purr deep in her throat. Firestar drew in her scent, comforted for a moment just by being close to her.

“Are you coming to eat?” she asked. “I waited for you. Graystripe told me what happened,” she continued as they padded together over to the nettle patch. “I said I’d relieve him later, to guard Cinderpelt’s den.”

“Thanks,” Firestar mewed.

He shot a glance at the black-striped warrior as they walked past him to the pile of fresh-kill. Darkstripe had finished his meal; he rose to his paws and stalked toward the warriors’ den without acknowledging Firestar’s presence. Brackenfur followed with a determined look on his face.

Dustpelt emerged from the den just as Darkstripe reached it; Firestar couldn’t help noticing that the brown tabby veered sharply away as he went to join Fernpaw outside the apprentices’ den. The cats of ThunderClan were making their feelings very clear. Dustpelt had been Darkstripe’s apprentice, and now he didn’t even want to speak to his former mentor.

Firestar picked out a magpie from the fresh-kill pile and took it over to the nettle patch.

“Hey, Firestar,” meowed Mousefur as he approached. “Thornpaw said you were going to have a word with me about his warrior ceremony. It’s about time.”

“It certainly is,” Firestar agreed. Bluestar’s refusal to make the three oldest apprentices into warriors had led to Swiftpaw’s death and Lostface’s injuries, and there wouldn’t be a cat in the Clan who didn’t remember that when Thornpaw finally received his warrior name. “Why don’t the three of us take the dawn patrol tomorrow? That should give me a chance to see how he’s shaping up—not that I have any doubts,” he added hastily.

“I should think not!” Mousefur mewed. “Will you tell Thornpaw about the patrol or shall I?”

“I will,” Firestar replied, taking a quick bite of his magpie. “I want a word with Fernpaw and Ashpaw, too.”

W h en he and Sandstorm had finished eating, the ginger she-cat went off to Cinderpelt’s den, while Firestar padded over toward the tree stump where the apprentices ate. Dustpelt and Fernpaw were already there with Thornpaw and Ashpaw, and Cloudtail was just strolling over from the elders’ den, Lostface close beside him.

“Thornpaw.” Firestar gave the apprentice a nod as he settled down beside him. “Are your claws sharp? All your warrior skills ready?”

Thornpaw sat up straight, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, Firestar!”

“Dawn patrol tomorrow, then,” Firestar told him. “If it goes well, we’ll hold your ceremony at sunhigh.”

Thornpaw’s ears quivered with anticipation, but then the light in his eyes slowly died and he looked away.

“What’s the matter?” Firestar asked.

“Swiftpaw…and Lostface.” Thornpaw spoke in a low voice, with a flick of the tail toward the injured she-cat. “They should both be with me.”

“I know.” Firestar closed his eyes briefly at the memory of so much pain. “But you mustn’t let that spoil it for you. You’ve deserved this for moons.”

“I will be with you, Thornpaw.” Lostface spoke up from where she was sitting beside Cloudtail. “I’ll be the first cat to call you by your new name.”

“Thanks, Lostface,” Thornpaw mewed with a grateful dip of his head.

“And while we’re on the subject of names,” Cloudtail broke in, “what about h e r s?” He tilted his head toward Lostface; he always refused to use the cruel name Bluestar had bestowed on the injured cat. “What about getting it changed?”

“Can you change a warrior’s name?” Firestar asked. “It’s given in the sight of StarClan.”

Cloudtail let out a sigh of exasperation. “I never thought I’d call my Clan leader a mouse-brain, but honestly! Do you think One-eye or Ha l f tail started off with those names? They had other warrior names first, you can be sure of that. There must be a ceremony of some sort. And I know the rest of the Clan won’t accept a new name until you’ve said the right words.”

“Please, Firestar.” Lostface was looking at him with a hopeful expression. “I’m sure the other cats wouldn’t feel so awkward talking to me if I didn’t have this awful name.”

“Of course.” Firestar felt a stir of distress that he hadn’t noticed the burden the young cat was carrying. “I’ll talk to the elders right away. One-eye is bound to know what to do.”

He rose to his paws and suddenly remembered what else he had meant to say. “Ashpaw, Fernpaw, don’t think that you’ve been forgotten. You were brilliant in the race with the dog pack, but you’re still a bit young to be made warriors.” That was true, but at the same time Firestar wanted Thornpaw to keep his seniority by being made warrior first. “I promise it won’t be long,” he told them.

“We understand,” Ashpaw mewed. “There’s still stuff we need to learn.”

“Firestar,” Fernpaw asked nervously, “what’s going to happen about…about Darkstripe? If he did that to Sorrelkit, I don’t want him for my men t o r.”

“If he did that to Sorrelkit, he won’t be your mentor,” Firestar promised.

“Sorrelkit?” Cloudtail demanded. “What’s all this about Sorrelkit? Did something happen while we were out hunting?”

Immediately Thornpaw and Ashpaw shifted position to crouch beside him and Lostface, and began passing on the news in hushed voices.

“So who’s going to mentor Fernpaw then?” Dustpelt asked Firestar, taking it for granted that Darkstripe was guilty. “I could manage her as well as Ashpaw,” he suggested hopefully.

Fernpaw brightened but Firestar shook his head. “Not a chance, Dustpelt. You wouldn’t be nearly tough en o u g h with her.”

Dustpelt’s eyes sparked with annoyance; then he nodded sheepishly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t worry,” Firestar promised as he headed for the elders’ den. “I’ll make sure she gets a good mentor.”

Inside their den beside the fallen tree trunk, the elders were settling down for the night.

“What’s the matter now?” Smallear grumbled, raising his head from his mossy nest. “Can’t a cat get a wink of sleep around here?”

Dappletail let out a drowsy purr. “Don’t listen to him, Firestar. You’re always welcome.”

“Thanks, Dappletail,” Firestar meowed. “But it’s One-eye I want to talk to.”

One-eye was curled up in a clump of ferns in the shelter of the trunk. She blinked her single eye and opened her jaws in a huge yawn. “I’m listening, Firestar. But make it quick.”

“I need to ask you about names,” Firestar began, and he explained how Cloudtail wanted a new name for Lostface.

At the sound of the young cat’s name, Speckletail padded over and sat listening. She had cared for Lostface when she was newly injured, and a strong bond had developed between them.

“I can’t say I blame Cloudtail,” she commented when Firestar had finished. “No cat wants a name like that.”

One-eye yawned. “I was already old when they changed my name to One-eye,” she mewed, “and to be honest I don’t care what they call me so long as they bring the fresh-kill on time. But it’s different for a young cat.”

“So can you tell me what to do?” Firestar prompted.

“Of course I can.” One-eye raised her tail and beckoned him closer. “Come here, and listen carefully…”

Heavy rain fell during the night. When Firestar led Mousefur and Thornpaw out of the camp at dawn, he saw that the light snowfall had vanished. Every fern and clump of grass was loaded with drops of water that shone as daylight seeped into the sky. Shivering, Firestar set a brisk pace.

He could see from the gleam in Thornpaw’s eyes that the young cat was wildly excited, but he kept calm, determined to show his leader that he was fit to be a warrior. The three cats paused at the top of the ravine, where the breeze was carrying a strong scent of mouse. Thornpaw flashed an inquiring look at Firestar, who nodded.

“We’re not hunting,” he mewed quietly, “but we won’t say no to a bit of prey. Let’s see your action.”

Thornpaw froze for a moment, pinpointing the mouse scuffling among the leaves under a bush. Stealthily he crept up on it, his body falling smoothly into the hunter’s crouch. Firestar noticed approvingly that he remembered how sensitive the mouse would be to the vibration of his pawsteps; he almost seemed to float over the ground. Then he sprang, and turned back to Firestar and his mentor with triumph in his eyes and the limp body of the mouse in his jaws.

“Well done!” meowed Mousefur.

“That was great,” Firestar agreed. “Bury it now, and we’ll pick it up on the way back.”

W h en Thornpaw had scraped earth over his catch, Firestar led the patrol toward Snakerocks. He had not been this way since that dreadful morning when he had discovered the trail of dead rabbits laid by Tigerstar to lead the dog pack to the ThunderClan camp. He swallowed bile in his throat as he remembered the reek of blood, but this morning he could detect nothing but the ordinary forest scents. When they reached Snakerocks everything was silent. The howls and barking that he had heard coming from the cave were now no more than a memory.

“Right, Thornpaw,” Firestar meowed, trying not to reveal the clinging horror that he still felt about this place. “What can you smell?”

The apprentice lifted his head and opened his jaws to draw air past his scent glands. Firestar could see that he was concentrating fiercely.

“Fox,” he announced at last. “It’s stale, though…two days old, I’d guess. Squirrel. And…and just a trace of dog.” He shot a glance at Firestar, who could see that the young cat shared his own misgivings. Thornpaw knew as well as any of them that this was where Swiftpaw had died and Lostface had been attacked.

“Anything else?”

“The Thunderpath,” Thornpaw replied. “And there’s something…” He tasted the air again. “Firestar, I don’t understand. I think I can smell cats, but it’s not the scent of any of the Clans. Coming from over there.” He flicked his tail. “What do you think?”

Firestar took a deep breath and realized that Thornpaw was right. The breeze was blowing a faint trace of unfamiliar cat scent toward them.

“Let’s take a look,” Firestar murmured. “And be careful. It might only be a lost kittypet, but you can never tell.”

As the three cats padded warily through the undergrowth, the scent grew stronger. Firestar felt more certain now about the scent. “Rogues or loners,” he meowed. “Three of them, I’d guess. And the scent is fresh. We must have just missed them.”

“But what are they doing on our territory?” Thornpaw asked. “Are they Tigerstar’s rogues, do you think?” He was r e f erring to the band of Clanless cats who had helped Tigerstar to attack ThunderClan during his exile, before he had joined ShadowClan.

“No,” replied Mousefur. “Tigerstar’s rogues took on ShadowClan scent long ago. This must be a new lot.”

“As for what they’re doing,” Firestar added, “I’d like to know that, too. Let’s follow them. Thornpaw, you lead.”

Thornpaw was serious now, his excitement at his upcoming warrior ceremony lost in the possible threat from the group of rogues. He did his best to follow the scent but lost it in a marshy stretch of ground, where not even Firestar could pick it up again.

“I’m sorry, Firestar,” mewed Thornpaw, crestfallen.

“It’s not your fault,” Firestar reassured him. “If the scent’s gone, it’s gone.” He raised his head, staring in the direction the trail had led them. It looked as if the strange cats were heading for the Thunderpath, or perhaps for Twolegplace. In either case, they were on their way out of the territory. He shrugged. “I’ll tell the patrols to keep a lookout, but hopefully there’s nothing to worry about. That was well scented, Thornpaw.” Turning to the young cat, he added with a purr of approval, “Let’s head back to camp. We have a warrior ceremony to arrange.”

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!”

Almost at once Firestar saw Thornpaw approaching from the apprentices’ den with Mousefur beside him. Both cats had groomed themselves for the ceremony; Thornpaw’s golden-brown fur shone in the gray light of leaf-bare, and he looked as if he would burst with pride.

As he waited for the rest of the Clan to emerge, Firestar spotted Cinderpelt coming from her den. Graystripe was with her, and the two cats had their heads together, talking in low voices. Firestar wondered how Sorrelkit was getting on. He had briefly looked into the medicine cat’s den before he left with the dawn patrol. The kit had been sleeping then, and Cinderpelt had still not been prepared to say whether she thought the poison was out of her system. Firestar decided to check on Sorrelkit again as soon as the ceremony was over.

He could not help noticing Darkstripe emerging from the warriors’ den with Brackenfur right behind him. When they sat down in front of the Highrock, a space cleared itself all around them. None of the other cats wanted to be an y where near Darkstripe. The warrior stared straight ahead with a sneer on his face, but Firestar guessed he would be as anxious as the rest of them to know if Sorrelkit would recover.

Firestar looked at the rest of the Clan for a moment. This was a day that Thornpaw would remember for the rest of his life, but it was special for Firestar too, because Thornpaw was the first warrior he would make as Clan leader.

His voice rang out clearly as he began the ceremony with the words that were familiar to him from his own ceremony and all the others he had seen. “I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” Turning to the apprentice, Firestar continued, “Thornpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Thornpaw’s reply was firm and confident. “I do.”

“T h en by the powers of StarClan,” Firestar declared, “I give you your warrior name: Thorn p a w, from this moment you will be known as Thorn c l a w. StarClan honors your loyalty and your intelligence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Stepping forward, Firestar rested his muzzle on the top of Thornclaw’s head, feeling the new warrior quiver with excitement. Thornclaw licked his shoulder in return, and met his gaze with a long look in which happiness and sorrow were mingled. Firestar knew he was remembering his den mate Swiftpaw, dead before he could know the fulfilment of being a warrior.

As Thornclaw stepped back to join the warriors, Lostface slipped over to him. “Thornclaw!” she purred, swiping her tongue over his ear. She had kept her promise to be the first cat to greet him with his new warrior name, and her voice held warmth and pride in his achievement.

Cloudtail pressed up behind her, greeting Thornclaw in his turn, and flashed a questioning look at Firestar.

Firestar gave him a nod. For a few moments he allowed the Clan to welcome the new warrior by chanting his name, and then he signaled with his tail for silence. When the cats had settled down, he meowed, “Before you go, I’ve something more to say. First, I want to honor the apprentice who should have been here, receiving his warrior name along with Thornclaw. You all know how Swiftpaw met his death trying to hunt down the dog pack who threatened us. His Clan will always remember that.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled cats. Firestar glanced at Longtail, who had been the dead apprentice’s mentor, and saw a look of pride and grief cross his face.

“In addition,” Firestar continued, “I want to give thanks from the Clan to Fernpaw and Ashpaw. They showed the bravery of warriors in the race against the dogs, and although they are still too young to receive their warrior names, we honor them.”

“Fernpaw! Ashpaw!” The two apprentices looked overwhelmed to hear themselves praised by their Clan mates, and Dustpelt’s eyes shone with delight. Only Darkstripe, Fernpaw’s mentor, remained silent, staring coldly in front of him without even turning to look at his apprentice.

Firestar waited until the noise died down. “There’s one more ceremony to perform.” He flicked his tail to beckon Lostface out of the crowd. Nervously she stepped forward to stand in front of him; Cloudtail followed her, remaining a tail-length or so away.

A murmur of surprise went through the watching cats. Many of them, Firestar realized, would not know what was about to happen. The name-changing ceremony for a warrior who had already been given a new name had not been held for many seasons.

Remembering what One-eye had told him, he began to speak. “Spirits of StarClan, you know every cat by name. I ask you now to take away the name from the cat you see before you, for it no longer stands for what she is.”

He paused and saw the young ginger-and-white she-cat shiver, as she waited, nameless, before StarClan. Firestar hoped she would like the name he had chosen for her; he had thought hard before he was sure he had gotten it right.

“By my authority as Clan leader,” Firestar announced, “and with the approval of our warrior ancestors, I give this cat a new name. From this moment she will be known as Brightheart, for though her body has been gravely injured, we honor her brave spirit and the light that shines on within her.”

He stepped close to the newly named Brightheart, and as he had done in the warrior ceremony, rested his muzzle on her head. She responded like any newly named warrior by licking his shoulder.

“Brightheart! Brightheart!” The yowl rose from the assembled cats. Brightheart had been popular when she was an apprentice, and the whole Clan had grieved over her injuries. She would never be a warrior in the truest sense of the word, but there would always be a place for her in ThunderClan.

Firestar led Brightheart to where Cloudtail was waiting. “Well?” he asked. “Is that fair enough for you?”

Cloudtail could barely reply; he was too busy pressing his muzzle against Brightheart’s and winding his tail with hers. “It’s perfect, Firestar,” he murmured.

Brightheart’s good eye brimmed with happiness and she was purring too hard to speak, but she blinked her gratitude at Firestar. She had carried the burden of Bluestar’s anger against StarClan for too long, and even if she could never become a full warrior, she had a name to be proud of now.

Firestar swallowed, his throat choked with emotion. It was moments like this that made being a leader worthwhile.

“Listen, Firestar,” meowed Cloudtail after a moment, “Brightheart and I are going to train together. We’re going to work on a fighting technique she can manage with just one eye and ear. When she’s able to fight again, can she lea v e the elders and come to live in the warriors’ den with the rest of us?”

“Well…” Firestar was uncertain. Brightheart could never be a full warrior because she couldn’t hunt alone, and she would be at a serious disadvantage in a fight. But it was hard to resist her determination; besides, Firestar wanted her to be able to defend herself and her Clan mates as best she could. “You haven’t got an apprentice yet, Cloudtail,” he agreed, “so you do have the time to spend with Brightheart.”

“Does that mean we can train together?” Cloudtail urged.

“Please, Firestar,” meowed Brightheart. “I want to be some use to the Clan.”

“All right,” Firestar agreed. With a sudden thought he added, “If you work out some new moves, we can teach them to the others. Brightheart isn’t the first warrior to be injured like this, and she won’t be the last.”

Cloudtail meowed agreement. The two young cats were moving away when Whitestorm, who had been Brightheart’s mentor, came up to congratulate her. To Firestar, he added, “I looked in on Sorrelkit just before the ceremony. She was starting to wake up. Cinderpelt thinks she’ll recover.”

“That’s great news!” Firestar purred. Whitestorm, he remembered, was Sorrelkit’s father. “Do you think she’s fit yet to tell us what happened?”

“You’ll have to ask Cinderpelt,” the white warrior replied. “Go now—I’ll see to the patrols.”

Firestar thanked him and hurried toward the medicine cat’s den.

Cinderpelt met him at the mouth of the fern tunnel. “I was coming to look for you,” she meowed. After hearing Whitestorm’s good news, Firestar was surprised to see the depth of anxiety in her eyes. “Sorrelkit is awake,” she went on. “She’s going to be fine. But you need to hear the story she has to tell.”