A ShadowClan cat might be happy to hunt there, but Firestar didn’t want to set one paw inside the fence.
“Okay, let’s go,” he meowed.
Sky’s relief was obvious, his neck fur lying flat again as he began to lead the way back to the gorge. Firestar didn’t want to ask him what had disturbed him so deeply, and the old cat didn’t offer to explain.
As they drew closer to the cliff top, Sky slackened his pace.
Firestar guessed he was walking the paths of memory, lost among the shadows of his scattered kin and Clan. He slowed down too, letting the old cat draw ahead; Sandstorm kept pace with Firestar.
“He’s so lonely and sad. I wish we could help him,” she murmured.
“So do I,” mewed Firestar, “but what can we do? He spends too much time caught up in his ancestors’ past, like a fly in a cobweb, but those days will never come again.”
Sandstorm halted, her green eyes sparking. “Why won’t they? We’ve proved that this is a place where cats can live.
And there are plenty of cats around—kittypets and loners—to build up the Clan again. Some of them even have SkyClan blood.”
Firestar stared at her. “And who’s going to tell the kittypets and loners that they have to come here and live in caves? A Clan isn’t just cats, Sandstorm. A Clan belongs together and lives by the warrior code.”
“Then you’re just giving up?” Sandstorm drew her lips back in the beginning of a snarl.
“What else can I do? SkyClan lived here once, but then something terrible happened—something so terrible that Sky won’t even talk about it—and they scattered. They’re gone. I would stay if I thought I could help, but I can’t.
There’s nothing to work with.”
His voice shook, but he couldn’t see any other way. All that was left of the once-proud Clan was one old cat, clinging to the fading echoes of Clan life. It wasn’t enough. SkyClan was lost forever.
The haze had cleared away and the sun beat down from a deep blue sky. Firestar was thankful for the shade of the warriors’ cave when he and Sandstorm joined Sky there. The old warrior was crouched in the entrance, his paws tucked under him, his gaze fixed on the cliffs opposite.
Firestar dipped his head. “Thank you for showing us the territory. We’ll rest until it starts to get cooler, and then we’ll have to leave.”
Sky rose to his paws and looked from Firestar to Sandstorm and back again, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly he seemed to have grown taller and his gaze was sharper. He seemed less like a lonely elder and more like a true Clan warrior.
“Leave?” he echoed. “What do you mean? What I want to know is, will you do it?”
Firestar stared at him, bewildered, while Sandstorm, who clearly understood more, let out a small mew of satisfaction.
“Do what?” Firestar asked. “Our journey is over. We’ve found the place where SkyClan used to live, but the Clan is gone.”
“That’s not why you were sent here,” Sky spat. “You told me that a SkyClan ancestor visited you in your dreams. He must have known his Clan was long gone, forced out of the gorge by something even more terrible than their reason for leaving the forest. Yet still he asked you to come.”
Firestar remembered his vision of the SkyClan leader in Smudge’s garden. The cat had told him that it was his destiny to restore SkyClan. But then, Firestar had imagined that he would find at least the remnants of a Clan surviving in their new home. Not one old warrior, surrounded by rogues and kittypets who had never heard of the warrior code.
“Oh, no,” he meowed. “You can’t ask me to—”
“You must right the wrongs your Clan’s ancestors did all those seasons ago,” Sky insisted. His pale gaze burned into Firestar’s eyes like sunlight on water. “You must rebuild SkyClan.”
Chapter 21
“I know it seems impossible,” Sky continued, “but I know too that you have the strength to do this. Have faith in yourself, Firestar. We will meet again soon.”
With great dignity he dipped his head and padded down the stony trail, away from the warriors’ cave.
“Well?” Sandstorm prompted softly. “Are you going to follow him and tell him you can’t do it? Or just leave, and let him discover for himself that all his hopes have come to nothing?”
Firestar shook his head helplessly. The idea of rebuilding SkyClan was so huge that he couldn’t even think about it.
“I’m going hunting,” he announced. “I’m sorry, Sandstorm. I just need to be alone for a while.”
Sandstorm pressed her muzzle against his; her eyes glowed with her love for him. “I understand.”
Not wanting to catch up to Sky, Firestar headed in the opposite direction, downstream toward the trees near the old boundary of SkyClan territory. His mind was whirling. He was leader of ThunderClan; that was where he belonged. Yet Sky was asking him to take responsibility for another Clan as 2 5 8
well. Surely it couldn’t be the will of StarClan for one cat to lead two Clans, especially when their territories were nearly a moon’s journey apart?
He remembered how Tigerstar had made himself leader of ShadowClan and RiverClan, and tried to take over the other two Clans as well. His bloodthirsty ambitions would be remembered in the forest for many seasons.
“I won’t be another Tigerstar.” Firestar spoke aloud, halting by the edge of the river. “My loyalty is to ThunderClan.”
But was he right? Should he be loyal to the warrior code, rather than to any individual Clan?
Trying to shrug off the questions, he pressed on down the riverbank. Even though the sun was sliding down the sky, the sand was still hot against his pads, and the scrubby bushes by the cliff face cast very little shade. He longed for the cool, damp glades of the forest, the thick canopy of leaves, and the small rustlings of prey in the undergrowth. He had stayed here long enough that his paws were hardening from con-stant running on sand and stone, and he was learning how to track prey through the scanty cover that was all the gorge had to offer.
But this isn’t my home, he thought. It never will be.
He clambered over the rock spur, relieved at the sight of the thicker shrubbery beyond. Slithering down the other side, he caught a glimpse of movement and spotted the dark ginger tomcat he had seen before.
“Hey!” he called out. “Wait up!”
The ginger tom cast a glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pushed his way deeper into the undergrowth; Firestar lost sight of him, and didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
He picked his way across the pebbles, heading for the nearest clump of bushes, his ears pricked and his jaws open to sense the first traces of prey. Then he paused, puzzled. There was a scent here he couldn’t identify: prey, but so thickly covered by the tang of crushed leaves that he couldn’t be sure what creature it came from. His fur prickled with the sensation that he was being watched.
Trying to shake off the feeling, Firestar slid into the ground cover, brushing through clumps of fern and seeding grasses until he reached the shadow of the bushes. His conviction that he was being watched grew stronger still. Icy claws raked his spine as he pictured a cold, malevolent gaze fixed on him. Something was lurking in the thicket that didn’t welcome cats.
“Who’s there?” Firestar hissed. He spun around, disturbing a thrush that shot up into the nearest tree. Disgusted, he realized that its loud alarm call would have alerted all the prey in the gorge.