Erin Hunter - The Darkest Hour

Heart thudding wildly, Firestar scrambled to his paws. Across the cave he could just make out Cinderpelt. She had risen too, and was signaling urgently to him with her tail. Firestar’s first impulse was to pour out to her all that he had seen, but he remembered her instructions to keep silent until they had left Mother mouth. Paws skidding on the cave floor in his haste, he pushed past the medicine cat and bolted into the tunnel.

As he stumbled upward toward the open air, following his own scent trail along the dark passage, the way seemed twice as long as before. Firestar’s fur scraped against the tunnel walls and he was filled with horror at the thought of being buried alive. The air felt too thick to breathe, and as his panic grew in the unbroken blackness of the tunnel he began to imagine that it would never end, that he would be trapped for ever in blood and darkness.

Then he saw the pale outline of the tunnel entrance, and burst out into the still night air, where the moon was sinking behind thin clouds. Firestar dug his claws into the loose earth of the hillside while shudders passed through his body from nose to tail.

A few moments later, Cinderpelt emerged behind him and pressed herself against his side until he managed to control his dreadful shivering and his breathing steadied.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t you know?”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “I know that the ritual was interrupted—the scent of blood told me that. But I don’t know why.” She looked deep into his eyes; her own were burning with concern. “Tell me…did you receive your nine lives and your name?”

Firestar nodded, and the medicine cat relaxed slightly. “Then the rest can wait. Let’s go.”

For a moment Firestar felt too exhausted to move. But he did not want to stay anywhere near Mothermouth and the terrible things that he had seen in the cave. Shakily, pawstep by pawstep, he began to descend the hill. Cinderpelt padded beside him, sometimes nudging him toward an easier route, and Firestar was grateful for her unquestioning presence.

As they drew farther away from the tunnel, the stench of blood faded from his mouth and nostrils. Still, Firestar felt that even if he washed for a moon he would never get rid of the last traces from his fur. He began to feel stronger, but he was still very tired, and as soon as the rocky hillside gave way to grass he flopped down in the shelter of a hawthorn bush.

“I’ve got to rest,” he meowed.

Cinderpelt tucked herself into the grass beside him and for a few moments the two cats shared tongues in silence. Firestar wanted to tell the medicine cat what he had seen, but something kept him silent. Partly he wanted to protect her from the dreadful fear he had felt—even if she could explain what Bluestar’s prophecy meant, would it help to have another cat look forward to the future with the dread that he now felt? And partly he hoped that if he never spoke of the dreadful vision, it might not come true. Or was there a curse on his leadership that nothing could avert? Bluestar had told him before she died that he was the fire who would save the Clan. How could that be true, if the fire was quenched by the tidal wave of blood he had just seen? Firestar had experienced prophetic dreams before, and he had learned to take them seriously. He could not ignore this, especially when it came at such a significant moment, while he was receiving his nine lives and his new name.

Cinderpelt broke into his reverie. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet, you know.”

Firestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, grateful for her warmth. “I’ll think about it first,” he mewed slowly. “Right now…it’s too close.” He shivered again at the memory. “Cinderpelt,” he went on, “I’ve never told any cat this before, but…sometimes I have dreams that tell me about the future.”

Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in surprise. “That’s unusual. Clan leaders and medicine cats commune with StarClan, but I never heard of ordinary warriors having prophetic dreams. How long has this been going on?”

“Since I was a kittypet,” Firestar admitted, remembering the dream of hunting a mouse that had first driven him into the forest. “But I…I don’t know if the dreams come from StarClan.” After all, before he came to the forest, he hadn’t even known about StarClan. Could they have been watching over him even then?

The medicine cat’s eyes were thoughtful. “In the end, all dreams come from StarClan,” she murmured. “Do they always come true?”

“Yes,” Firestar replied. “But not always in the way I expect. Some are easier to understand than others.”

“Then you should bear that in mind when you’re trying to understand this latest dream.” Cinderpelt gave him a comforting lick. “Remember, Firestar, you’re not alone. Now that you’re Clan leader, StarClan will share many things with you. But I’m here to help you interpret the signs. Tell me as much or as little as you want.”

Though Firestar was grateful for her understanding, Cinderpelt’s words chilled him. His new relationship with StarClan was driving him along new paths where he might not want to go. For a few heartbeats he longed to be no more than a warrior again, hunting with Graystripe or sharing tongues with Sandstorm in the den.

“Thank you, Cinderpelt,” he meowed, forcing himself to his paws. “I promise I’ll talk to you when ever I feel the need.” But even though he meant what he said, deep down he wondered how helpful she would be. Firestar couldn’t help feeling that this was something he had to face alone. He let out a long sigh. “Let’s keep going.”

However much Firestar longed to get home, his strength was failing. Since the discovery of the dog pack and the heart-stopping dash through the forest to lead them to the gorge, he had eaten little, and scarcely slept except to dream. The long journey to Highstones and the agony of receiving his nine lives, followed by the terrible vision, had taken all he had to give.

His steps became slower and more uncertain. They were passing Barley’s farm when the medicine cat gave his shoulder a sharp nudge. “That’s enough, Firestar,” she meowed firmly. “As your medicine cat I’m telling you that you need to rest. Let’s see if Barley and Ravenpaw are at home.”

“Good idea.” Firestar felt too relieved at the prospect of resting to argue.

Cautiously the two cats approached the Twoleg barn. Firestar was worried that the dogs might be unchained, but their scent was faint and distant. Much stronger was the scent of cats, and as they drew closer Firestar spotted a muscular black-and-white tom squeezing himself through a gap in the door.

“Barley!” he meowed in greeting. “It’s good to see you. You know Cinderpelt, our medicine cat?”

Barley gave both cats a brisk nod. “It’s good to see you, too, Fireheart.”

“Fire star ,” Cinderpelt corrected him. “He’s Clan leader now.”

Barley’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Congratulations! But that means that Bluestar must be dead. I’m sorry.”

“She died as she lived, protecting her Clan,” Firestar told him.

“I can see there’s a story to tell,” meowed Barley, turning back to the barn, “and Ravenpaw will want to hear it. Come on in.”

Inside the barn was warm and dark, full of the scent of hay and mice. Firestar listened to the telltale scuttering noises and his head spun with hunger.

“A soft place to sleep, and all the prey you can eat,” he remarked, trying not to let his desperate hunger show. “Better not tell ThunderClan or they’ll all be out here, wanting to be loners.”

Barley chuckled softly. “Ravenpaw,” he called, “come and see who’s here.”