Into the Wild (17 page)

“It wasn't Tigerclaw who saved you. It was Barley,” Firepaw whispered as he took some more cobwebs from Ravenpaw.

“Barley?” Bluestar sounded surprised. “Is he here?”

“Tigerclaw sent him away,” Firepaw answered quietly. “He thinks Barley sent us into a trap.”

“And what do you think?” Bluestar rasped.

Firepaw didn't look up, but concentrated on pressing the last bit of cobweb into place. “Barley is a loner. What would he gain by sending us into a trap only to rescue us from it?” he mewed eventually.

Bluestar laid down her head and closed her eyes again.

Graypaw returned with some horsetail. Firepaw chewed the leaves and spat the juice onto Bluestar's wounds. He knew it would help stop infection, but he still wished Spottedleaf
were with him, with her knowledge of and confidence in healing.

“We should rest here while Bluestar recovers,” announced Tigerclaw, padding up.

“No,” Bluestar insisted. “We must return to the camp.” Narrowing her eyes in pain, she struggled to her paws. “Let's keep going.”

The ThunderClan leader limped along the edge of the field. Tigerclaw walked at her side, his face dark with unknowable thoughts. The apprentices exchanged anxious glances, and then followed.

“It is a long time since I saw you lose a life, Bluestar.” Firepaw overheard Tigerclaw's whispered words. “How many have you lost now?”

Firepaw couldn't help feeling surprised at Tigerclaw's open curiosity.

“That was my fifth,” replied Bluestar quietly.

Firepaw strained his ears, but Tigerclaw did not reply. He padded on, lost in thought.

Sunhigh came and went as the
cats made their way through WindClan's old hunting grounds. Their heavy silence showed that they were still sore after the rat fight. Firepaw felt scratched and bitten all over. He could see Graypaw was limping, occasionally hopping on three legs to protect his injured back leg. But it was Bluestar who worried him most. Her pace was even slower now, but she refused to stop and rest. The grim look on her face, clouded by pain, told Firepaw how much she wanted to reach the ThunderClan camp.

“Don't worry about ShadowClan warriors,” she meowed through gritted teeth as Tigerclaw paused to sniff the air. “You won't find any here today.”

How could she be so sure? Firepaw wondered.

They picked their way carefully down the steep, rocky hillside that led to Fourtrees and joined the familiar trail that led home. It was late afternoon, and Firepaw began to think longingly of his nest, and a plump helping of fresh-kill.

“I can still smell the stench of ShadowClan,” Graypaw muttered to Firepaw as they trekked through ThunderClan's hunting grounds.

“Perhaps the breeze has carried it down from WindClan's territory,” Firepaw suggested. He could smell it too, and his whiskers were trembling.

Suddenly Ravenpaw stopped. “Can you hear that?” he mewed in a hushed voice.

Firepaw strained his ears. At first he heard only the familiar sounds of the forest—leaves rustling, a pigeon calling. Then his blood ran cold. In the distance he could hear battle-hungry yowls, and the shrill squeal of terrified kits.

“Quick!” Bluestar howled. “It is as StarClan warned me. Our camp is being attacked!” She tried to leap forward, but stumbled. She pushed herself up and limped onward.

Tigerclaw and Firepaw pelted forward side by side. Graypaw and Ravenpaw followed, their tail fur bristled to twice its usual size. Firepaw forgot his soreness as he charged toward the camp. His only concern was to protect the Clan.

The sounds of battle grew louder and louder as he neared the camp entrance, and the stench of ShadowClan filled his nostrils. He was right behind Tigerclaw as the cats dashed through the tunnel and into the clearing.

They were met by a frenzy of fighting, ThunderClan cats battling furiously with ShadowClan warriors. The kits were out of sight, and Firepaw hoped they were safely hidden in the nursery. He guessed the weakest elders would be sheltering inside the hollow trunk of their fallen tree.

Every corner of the camp seemed alive with warriors. Firepaw could see Frostfur and Goldenflower clawing and biting at a huge gray tom. Even the young tabby queen
Brindleface was fighting, though she was very close to kitting. Darkstripe was locked in a fierce tussle with a black warrior. Three of the elders, Smallear, Patchpelt, and One-eye, were nipping bravely at a tortoiseshell who fought with twice their speed and ferocity.

The returning cats hurled themselves into the battle. Firepaw caught hold of a tabby warrior queen, much larger than him, and sank his teeth deep into her leg. She yowled with pain and turned on him, lashing out with sharp claws and lunging at his neck with her teeth bared. He twisted and ducked to avoid her bite. She couldn't match his speed, and he managed to grasp her from behind and pull her down into the dirt. With his strong hind legs he clawed at her back till she squealed and struggled away from him, running headlong into the thick undergrowth that surrounded the camp.

Firepaw glanced around to see that Bluestar had arrived. Despite her injuries, she was fighting another tabby. Firepaw had never seen her fight before, but even wounded, she was a powerful opponent. Her victim struggled to escape but she held him tightly and clawed him so fiercely that Firepaw knew he would bear the scars of this fight for many moons.

Then he saw a white ShadowClan cat with jet-black paws dragging a ThunderClan elder away from the nursery. Firepaw remembered those unusual dark paws from the Gathering. Blackfoot! The ShadowClan deputy made quick work of killing the elder, who had been guarding the kits, and began to reach into the bramble nest with one massive paw. The kits were squealing and mewling, undefended now as their mothers
wrestled with other ShadowClan warriors in the clearing.

Firepaw prepared to spring toward the nursery, but a claw sliced painfully down his side and he whipped around to see a scrawny tortoiseshell leap on top of him. As he slammed into the ground, he tried to call out to the other ThunderClan cats that the kits were in danger. Fighting with all his strength to escape the tortoiseshell's grip, he wrenched his head around so he could see the bramble nest.

Blackfoot had scooped two kits from their bedding already and was reaching in for a third.

Firepaw saw no more as the tortoiseshell raked his belly with her hind claws. Firepaw scrabbled onto his feet and crouched low, as if in defeat. The trick had worked before and it worked now. As the tortoiseshell gripped him triumphantly and began to sink her teeth into Firepaw's neck, Firepaw sprang upward as hard as he could and flung the warrior away. He spun around and was on the winded warrior in an instant. This time he showed no mercy, plunging his teeth deep into the cat's shoulder. The bite sent the she-cat howling into the undergrowth.

Firepaw jumped up, dashed over to the nursery, and thrust his head through the nursery entrance. Blackfoot was nowhere to be seen. Inside the nest, crouching over the terrified kits, was Yellowfang. Her gray fur was spattered with blood, and one of her eyes was painfully swollen. She looked up at Firepaw with a ferocious hiss, then, realizing it was him, she yowled, “They're okay. I'll protect them.”

Firepaw looked at her as she calmed the helpless kits, and Brokenstar's dire warning about the ShadowClan rogue
flashed through his mind. He didn't have time to think about that now. He would have to trust Yellowfang. He nodded quickly and ducked back out of the brambles.

There were now only a few ShadowClan cats left in the camp. Ravenpaw and Graypaw were fighting side by side, lashing out at a black tom until he fled howling into the bushes. Whitestorm and Darkstripe chased the last two intruders out of the camp, sending them off with a few extra scratches and bites.

Firepaw sat down, exhausted, and stared around the camp. It was devastated. Blood spattered the clearing, and tufts of fur drifted in the dust. The surrounding wall of undergrowth was ripped open where the invaders had crashed through.

One by one, the ThunderClan cats gathered beneath the Highrock. Graypaw came to sit by him, his sides heaving and blood trickling from a torn ear. Ravenpaw flopped down and began to lick a wound on his tail. The queens ran to the nursery to check on their kits. Firepaw found himself waiting tensely for their return, his view blocked by the other cats. He relaxed when he heard squeals and purrs of joy coming from the bramble nest.

Frostfur wove her way back through the crowd, followed by Yellowfang. The white queen stepped forward and addressed them. “Our kits are all safe, thanks to Yellowfang. A ShadowClan warrior killed brave Rosetail and was trying to steal them from their nest, but Yellowfang fought him off.”

“It was no ordinary ShadowClan warrior either,” Firepaw put in. He was determined to let the Clan know how much
they owed Yellowfang. “I saw him. It was Blackfoot.”

“The ShadowClan deputy!” meowed Brindleface, who had fought so bitterly to protect the unborn kits in her swollen belly.

There was a stir at the edge of the group, as Bluestar limped forward and made her way over to the apprentices. The grave expression on her face was enough to tell Firepaw that something was wrong.

“Spottedleaf is with Lionheart,” she murmured. “He was injured in the battle. It looks bad.” She turned her head toward the shadow on the far side of the Highrock where the warrior lay, a motionless bundle of dusty golden fur.

A high-pitched wail rose from Graypaw's throat and he raced over to Lionheart. Spottedleaf, who had been leaning over the ThunderClan deputy, stepped back to let the young apprentice share tongues for the last time with his mentor. As Graypaw's howl of grief echoed around the clearing, Firepaw's fur tingled and his blood ran cold. It was the cry he had heard in his dream! For a moment his head swam; then he gave himself a shake. He had to keep calm, for Graypaw's sake.

Firepaw looked at Bluestar, who nodded, and he padded over to join his friend by the Highrock. He stopped for a moment beside Spottedleaf.

She looked exhausted and dull-eyed with grief. “I can't help Lionheart now,” she mewed quietly to him. “He is on his way to join StarClan.” She pressed her body against Firepaw's side, and he felt comforted by the touch of her warm fur.

The other cats looked on in silence as the sun slowly set
behind the trees. Finally Graypaw sat up and cried out, “He's gone!” He lay down again beside Lionheart's body and rested his head on his front paws. The rest of the Clan walked silently forward to carry out their own grieving rituals for their beloved deputy.

Firepaw joined them. He licked Lionheart's neck and murmured, “Thank you for your wisdom. You taught me so much.” Then he sat down beside Graypaw and began gently to groom his friend's ears.

Bluestar waited until the other cats had left before padding quietly up. Graypaw didn't even seem to notice his leader's presence. Firepaw looked away as Bluestar spoke her last words to her old friend.

“Oh, what am I going to do without you, Lionheart?” she whispered. Then she limped back to her den and crouched down outside, staring grief-stricken into the distance. She didn't even try to lick clean her bloody, matted fur. It was the first time Firepaw had seen her look utterly defeated, and he felt a chill run through him.

He sat with Graypaw and Lionheart until the moon rose high. Ravenpaw joined him and together they kept company with their grieving friend. Tigerclaw strode over and briefly shared tongues with Lionheart. Firepaw waited to hear what words he would share with his warrior friend, but Tigerclaw remained silent as he licked the matted fur. To Firepaw's confusion, the dark tabby's eyes seemed to be fixed on Ravenpaw rather than the fallen deputy.

Spottedleaf padded lightly around the camp, tending to
wounds and battered nerves. Firepaw watched her approach Bluestar twice, but each time the leader sent her away to see to the others. Only when Spottedleaf had attended to the wounds of all the other cats did Bluestar allow her to treat her bites and scratches.

When she had finished, Spottedleaf turned and walked back to her den. Bluestar stood and slowly hauled herself up onto the Highrock. The Clan cats seemed to have been waiting for her. As soon as she had settled herself in her usual spot, they began to gather in the clearing below, unusually silent and somber-faced.

Firepaw and Ravenpaw got stiffly to their paws and joined them, leaving Graypaw behind with Lionheart's body. The gray apprentice was still lying with his nose resting against Lionheart's cooling golden pelt. Firepaw guessed Bluestar would excuse Graypaw from the Clan meeting this time.

“It is nearly moonhigh,” meowed Bluestar as Firepaw slipped into place next to Ravenpaw. “And it is once more my duty—much, much too soon—to name ThunderClan's new deputy.” Her voice was tired and cracked with sadness.

Firepaw looked from warrior to warrior. They were all looking expectantly at Tigerclaw. Even Whitestorm had turned to watch the dark tabby. From the bold expression on his face, and the way his whiskers twitched in anticipation, Tigerclaw seemed to agree with them.

Bluestar took a deep breath and continued. “I say these words before the body of Lionheart, so that his spirit may hear and approve my choice.” She hesitated. “I have not forgotten
how one cat avenged the death of Redtail and brought his body back to us. ThunderClan needs this fearless loyalty even more now.” Bluestar paused again and then meowed the name loud and clear. “Tigerclaw will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”

There was a yowl of approval, with the loudest voices belonging to Darkstripe and Longtail. Whitestorm sat calmly, his eyes closed, his tail wrapped neatly around him. He was nodding slowly and approvingly.