The Sight

Prologue

Muddied tree roots shaped a small opening. In the shadows beyond, the knotted tendrils cradled the smooth soil floor of a cave, hollowed out by moons of wind and water.

A cat padded up the steep path toward the opening, narrowing his eyes as he neared. His flame-colored pelt glowed in the moonlight. His ears twitched, and the bristling of his fur gave away his unease as he sat down at the mouth of the cave and curled his tail across his paws. “You asked me to come.”

From the shadows, a pair of eyes blinked at him—eyes as blue as water reflecting the summer sky. A gray tom, scarred by time and battle, was waiting in the entrance.

“Firestar.” The warrior stepped forward and brushed the ThunderClan leader’s cheek with his white-flecked muzzle.

“I have to thank you.” His mew was hoarse with age. “You have rebuilt the lost Clan. No cat could have done better.”

“There’s no need for thanks.” Firestar dipped his head. “I did only what I had to.”

The old warrior nodded, blinking thoughtfully. “Do you think you have been a good leader for ThunderClan?”

Firestar tensed. “I don’t know,” he mewed. “It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve always tried to do what is right for my Clan.”

“No cat would doubt your loyalty,” the old cat rasped. “But how far would it go?”

Firestar’s eyes glittered uncertainly as he searched for the words to answer.

“There are difficult times ahead,” the warrior went on before Firestar could reply. “And your loyalty will be tested to the utmost. Sometimes the destiny of one cat is not the destiny of the whole Clan.”

Suddenly the old cat rose stiffly to his paws and stared past Firestar. It seemed he no longer saw the ThunderClan leader but gazed far beyond, to something Firestar could not see.

When he spoke again, the ancient rasp was smoothed from his voice, as though some other cat used his tongue.

“There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.”

“I don’t understand,” Firestar meowed. “Kin of my kin? Why are you telling me this?”

The old warrior blinked, his gaze fixed once more on Firestar.

“You must tell me more!” Firestar demanded. “How can I decide what I ought to do if you don’t explain?”

The old cat took a deep breath, but when he spoke it was only to say, “Farewell, Firestar. In seasons to come, remember me.”

Firestar jerked awake, his belly tight with fear. He blinked with relief when he saw the familiar stone walls of his den in the hollow by the lake. Morning sunlight streamed through the split in the rock. The warmth on his fur soothed him.

He heaved himself to his paws and shook his head, trying to dislodge the dream. But this was no ordinary dream, for he remembered being in that cave as clearly as if it had happened a moon ago, rather than the many, many seasons he had lived since then. When the old warrior cast his strange prophecy, Firestar’s daughters had not been born and the four Clans had still lived in the forest. The prophecy had followed him on the Great Journey over the mountains and settled with him in his new home by the lake; and every full moon, the memory of it returned to fill his dreams. Even Sandstorm, who slept beside him, knew nothing of the words he had shared with the ancient cat.

He gazed out from his den at the waking camp below. His deputy, Brambleclaw, was stretching in the center of the clearing, flexing his powerful shoulders as he clawed at the ground. Squirrelflight padded toward her mate, greeting him with a purr.

I pray that I am wrong, Firestar thought. And yet his heart felt hollow; he feared the prophecy was about to reveal itself.

The three have come…