“Cats of SkyClan.” Firestar stood on top of the Rockpile, his flame-colored pelt gleaming in a shaft of sunshine. “You heard what happened today, first to Sandstorm’s patrol and then when I went back with Sharpclaw and Cherrypaw. Now we have to decide what we’re going to do.”
Pausing, he let his gaze travel over the Clan below. All the cats were sitting close to one another, as if they needed the physical support of their Clanmates. Petal was missing, looking after the kits in the nursery cave, but Rainfur was here, even though he wasn’t a Clan warrior. Sandstorm was sitting at the mouth of the medicine cat’s den, where she could keep an eye on Patchfoot and still listen to what was being said at the meeting.
“Can we do anything?” Leafdapple asked. “If there are as many rats as you say, how can we possibly beat them?” Her eyes met Firestar’s as she spoke; she wasn’t frightened or despairing, but Firestar could tell she saw no point in facing a battle they couldn’t win.
He knew he had to be honest with her. “It’s going to be tough. I’ve never come across rats like these before. But we don’t have to kill them all. Just enough to make them stay in their own territory.”
“They drove out the first SkyClan,” Sparrowpaw mewed nervously. “Why should we be any different?” Shortwhisker murmured agreement, his whiskers twitching.
“At least we know what we have to face,” Firestar replied.
He scraped his claws along the rock, desperate to turn this huddle of shaken cats into a Clan of loyal, determined warriors. “Your warrior ancestors are watching you now,” he told them, hoping it was true. “You should fight for their sakes, not just your own. This is your chance to take revenge!”
“Why?” Cherrypaw demanded. “We’ve never met our warrior ancestors. Okay, we’re living in their camp, but that doesn’t mean we have to fight their battles.”
Clovertail nodded, taking a pawstep that brought her to the young tortoiseshell’s side. “Cherrypaw is right. We’ve got to decide what’s right for us, not for some dead cats who already lost their battle.”
Firestar winced; Clovertail’s words were harsh, but she had a point.
“And what about the kits?” Shortwhisker fretted. “They can’t fight. But the rats will kill them if they come here.”
Rainfur bared his teeth. “Over my dead body.”
Firestar gazed frustratedly down at them. Shortwhisker obviously didn’t understand the warrior code that would protect the weakest members of the Clan above all else. And Rainfur didn’t seem to realize that he could rely on the Clan for help.
Before he could speak again, Sharpclaw stepped forward.
“What are you, warriors or mice? Are you going to let prey beat you? I’ll fight to the death if necessary—and as often as I have to,” he added, with a dark look at Firestar.
Firestar tensed. Sharpclaw couldn’t have given a more obvious hint that he expected to be chosen as Clan leader.
But at least he seemed to have shaken off some of the despondency that had settled over the Clan like a clinging fog.
“There’s no point in every warrior fighting to the death,” Firestar pointed out quietly. “Then there would be no Clan left to fight for. But think about this,” he went on. “If you don’t want to fight for your warrior ancestors, then how about fighting for yourselves? You’ve achieved so much—making a home here, rescuing Petal and her kits. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”
His heartbeat quickened when he saw that he was reaching them at last. “This is a good home for you,” he meowed, waving his tail to take in the river and the caves of the camp.
“You’ve all worked hard for it, and you deserve to be here.
Are you going to let the rats drive you out?”
“No! We’re staying,” Sharpclaw hissed. “And we’ll tear the throats out of any rats who try to stop us.”
“Yes!” Cherrypaw screeched, springing forward.
“We’ll fight!” Sparrowpaw jumped up to stand beside them, and the rest of the Clan yowled in agreement. “We’ll fight!”
Firestar gazed over their heads to where Sandstorm was still sitting outside the medicine cat’s den. Their eyes met.
Oh, StarClan, Firestar thought, I hope I’m not leading them to their deaths.
Chapter 29
“How is Patchfoot?” Firestar asked as he slipped into the medicine cat’s cave. Night had fallen, and the half-moon shed silver light into the gorge. Back in the forest the medicine cats would be traveling to Highstones for their twice-moon meeting. Firestar wished he had the benefit of Cinderpelt’s wisdom now.
Sandstorm looked up as Firestar entered, her eyes filled with sorrow. “He’s getting worse,” she mewed. “His wound is infected—just what I was afraid of.”
“You’ve tried marigold?” Firestar asked, padding forward to look down at Patchfoot. The black-and-white warrior shifted restlessly in his sleep and let out a moan of pain.
Sandstorm nodded. “Petal and Rainfur brought me plenty, but it’s not doing any good. I wish there was something stronger to use for rat bites, but if there is, Cinderpelt didn’t tell me.” She lashed her tail in frustration.
“You couldn’t learn everything in the time you had before we left,” Firestar consoled her. “I know you’re doing your best.”
“It’s a pretty poor best if Patchfoot dies.”
Firestar wanted to reassure her, but he knew the words would sound empty. He could feel the heat of fever rising from Patchfoot’s body. His legs twitched as Firestar watched; he opened eyes glazed with pain and let out another moan.
Sandstorm rested her tail tip soothingly on his head; the black-and-white tom’s eyes closed again and he seemed to sink back into a quieter sleep.
“He can’t go on like this,” Sandstorm murmured. “No cat has the strength.”
Firestar rasped his tongue over her ear, but before he could say anything to comfort her, he heard a soft pawstep behind him. A sweet scent drifted around him and every hair on his pelt started to tingle. Spottedleaf!
Spinning around, he saw the pale outline of a tortoiseshell cat with the frosty glimmer of StarClan around her. She set down a mouthful of herbs and padded up to settle close by Patchfoot, between Firestar and Sandstorm.
Am I dreaming? Firestar wondered. When did I fall asleep?
Then Sandstorm’s ears pricked; she turned and her eyes flew wide with astonishment. “Spottedleaf!”
Firestar opened his jaws to speak, but at first not the faintest mew came out. How could Sandstorm see Spottedleaf if she was inside his dream? “Spottedleaf, how…?”
Spottedleaf silenced him by touching noses with him. “I’ve come because you both need me.” She turned to the herbs she had set down and patted them over to Sandstorm. “Burdock root is best for rat bites.”
Sandstorm was staring at the StarClan medicine cat as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. As the glossy green leaves rustled around her paws she blinked and looked down, sniffing the roots. “This will help Patchfoot?”
Spottedleaf nodded. “I’ll chew the root up. You clean the marigold off his wound.”
As if she had made up her mind not to think too closely about what was happening, Sandstorm began licking the chewed-up marigold from Patchfoot’s shoulder. Firestar watched numbly as Spottedleaf crouched down beside the burdock, tucked her paws underneath her chest, and began to chew one of the roots. When the pulp was ready she showed Sandstorm how to use it, patting it well down into the wound.