Erin Hunter - A Dangerous Path

Fireheart nodded. He felt sick as he forced himself to look at the side of Brightpaw’s face, now swathed in cobwebs. All this reminded him of Cinderpelt’s accident, when Yellowfang had told him that the young she-cat’s leg would never heal properly.

“She said something about the ‘pack,’” he murmured. “I wonder what it was she really saw.”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “It’s what we’ve been afraid of all along. There’s something in the forest hunting us down. I heard it in my dream.”

“I know.” Fireheart’s muscles tensed with regret. “I should have done something long ago. StarClan sent that warning to Bluestar too.”

“But Bluestar has no respect for StarClan anymore. I’m surprised she even listened to them.”

“Do you think that’s why this happened?” Fireheart spun around and faced the medicine cat.

“No.” Cinderpelt’s voice was strained as she moved closer to Fireheart and pressed herself against him. “StarClan did not send the evil; I’m sure of that.”

As she spoke, a rustling in the fern tunnel announced the arrival of Cloudtail.

“I thought I told you to get some rest,” Cinderpelt meowed.

“I couldn’t sleep.” The white cat padded over to settle himself in the ferns beside his friend. “I want to be with Brightpaw.” He bent his head to give her shoulder a gentle lick. “Sleep well, Brightpaw. You’re still beautiful,” he murmured. “Come back to us. I don’t know where you are now, but you have to come back.”

He went on licking her for a moment more and then looked up to fix a hostile glare on Fireheart. “This is all your fault!” he burst out. “She and Swiftpaw should have been made warriors, and then they wouldn’t have gone off on their own.”

Fireheart met his kin’s gaze steadily. “Yes, I know,” he mewed. “I tried, believe me.”

He broke off as he heard the soft pawsteps of another cat, and turned to see that Bluestar was approaching. Fireheart had sent Sandstorm to fetch her, and the ginger warrior followed her into the medicine cat’s clearing.

The Clan leader stood and looked down at Brightpaw in silence. Cloudtail raised his head challengingly, and for a heartbeat Fireheart thought he was going to accuse Bluestar of being responsible for Brightpaw’s terrible injuries as well, but Cloudtail stayed silent.

Bluestar blinked a couple of times and asked, “Is she dying?”

“That’s up to StarClan,” Cinderpelt told her, catching Fireheart’s eye.

“And what mercy can we expect from them?” Bluestar growled. “If it’s up to StarClan, Brightpaw will die.”

“Without ever being a warrior,” mewed Cloudtail; his voice was quiet and sorrowful, and he bent his head again to lick Brightpaw’s shoulder.

“Not necessarily.” Bluestar spoke reluctantly. “There is a ritual—thankfully little used—if a dying apprentice is worthy, she can be made into a warrior so that she may take a warrior name to StarClan.” She hesitated.

Fireheart held his breath in disbelief. Would Bluestar really put aside her anger at their ancestors to acknowledge the importance of StarClan in a warrior’s life? Was she about to admit that Brightpaw had been denied the warrior status she deserved?

Cloudtail looked up at the gray she-cat again. “Then do it,” he growled.

Bluestar did not react to being ordered around by her newest warrior. As Fireheart and Cinderpelt looked on, pelts touching for comfort, and Sandstorm approached to bear silent witness, the Clan leader dipped her head and began to speak. “I ask my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has learned the warrior code and has given up her life in the service of her Clan. Let StarClan receive her as a warrior.” Then she paused, and her eyes blazed with anger that burned like cold fire. “She will be known as Lostface, so that every cat knows what StarClan did to take her from us,” she growled.

Fireheart stared at his leader in horror. How could she use this terribly wounded apprentice in her war against her warrior ancestors?

“But that’s a cruel name!” Cloudtail protested. “What if she lives?”

“Then we will have all the more reason to remember what StarClan have brought us to,” Bluestar replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They will have this warrior as Lostface, or not at all.”

Cloudtail held her gaze for a moment longer, the light of challenge in his blue eyes, and then dipped his head as if he knew there was no point in arguing.

“Let StarClan receive her by the name of Lostface,” Bluestar finished. She bent her head and lightly touched her nose to Lostface’s head. “There, it is done,” she murmured.

As if the touch had roused her, Lostface’s eyes opened and a look of terrible fear flooded into them. For a moment she struggled back to wakefulness. “Pack, pack!” She gasped. “Kill, kill!”

Bluestar recoiled, her fur bristling. “What? What does she mean?” she demanded.

But Lostface had sunk into unconsciousness again. Bluestar looked wildly from Cinderpelt to Fireheart and back again. “What did she mean?” she repeated.

“I don’t know,” Cinderpelt mewed uneasily. “That’s all she will say.”

“But, Fireheart, I told you…” Bluestar was struggling to speak. “StarClan showed me an evil in the forest, and they called it ‘pack.’ Is it the pack that has done this?”

Cinderpelt avoided her eyes, going instead to check on Lostface. Fireheart sought for an answer that would satisfy his leader. He did not want Bluestar to know that her cats were being hunted down as if they were prey for some nameless, faceless enemy. But he knew that she would not be satisfied by empty reassurances.

“No cat knows,” he replied at last. “I’ll warn the patrols to be on their guard, but—”

“But if StarClan has abandoned us, patrols will not help us,” Bluestar finished scornfully. “Perhaps they have even sent this pack to punish me.”

“No!” Cinderpelt faced her leader. “StarClan did not send the pack. Our ancestors care for us, and they would never disrupt the life of the forest or destroy a whole Clan for a single grudge. Bluestar, you must believe this.”

Bluestar ignored her. She padded over to Lostface and stood looking down at her. “Forgive me,” she meowed. “I have brought down the wrath of StarClan on you.” Then she turned away toward her den.

Almost as soon as she had gone, an agonizing wail broke out in the main clearing. Fireheart raced through the ferns to see that Longtail and Graystripe were bringing Swiftpaw’s body back for burial. When the limp black-and-white shape had been laid in the center of the clearing, his mentor crouched beside him, touching his nose to his fur in the ritual position of mourning. Swiftpaw’s mother, Goldenflower, sat next to him, while Bramblekit and Tawnykit, Swiftpaw’s half brother and half sister, looked on with wide, scared eyes.

A fresh wave of grief flooded through Fireheart. Longtail had been a good mentor to Swiftpaw. He did not deserve the pain he was going through now.

Returning to Cinderpelt’s clearing, he saw that Sandstorm had padded over to stand beside the medicine cat, who was pressing fresh cobwebs onto the blood-soaked dressings. “Maybe she’ll pull through,” she mewed. “If any cat can help her, you can, Cinderpelt.”

Cinderpelt looked up and blinked gratefully. “Thanks, Sandstorm. But healing herbs can only do so much. And if Lostface lives, she might not thank me.” She caught Fireheart’s eye, and he saw in her face a fear that the injured cat would be unable to cope with her horrifically changed appearance. What future lay ahead for a cat whose scars would remind her forever of this living nightmare?