“Good idea.” Firestar suppressed a shiver at the thought of BloodClan breaking into the camp. He turned sharply at the sight of movement in the gorse tunnel, and flashed a glance of astonishment at Whitestorm as Ravenpaw appeared, followed by Barley. The black-and-white loner had never been to the ThunderClan camp before.
Leaving his deputy to finish instructing the apprentices, Firestar padded toward them. Ravenpaw hurried forward confidently, but Barley lagged behind, glancing warily around, as if he wasn’t sure of a welcome.
“We have to talk to you,” Ravenpaw blurted out. “Last night we met Onewhisker on the border of his territory and he told us about Scourge and BloodClan.” The raven-colored fur on his shoulders bristled. “We want to help, but more important, Barley has some information for you.”
Firestar dipped his head in greeting. “It’s good to see you both,” he meowed. “And we’re grateful for any help we can get. Perhaps you’d better come to my den.”
Barley relaxed at Firestar’s friendly greeting, and the two loners followed Firestar to the hollow beneath the Highrock. Early-morning sunshine slanted through the entrance and into the peaceful den. Firestar could almost forget the threat from Scourge and his bloodthirsty followers. But the serious expressions of his visitors reminded him all too clearly of the shadow over the future of the forest.
“What is it?” he prompted, once the two loners were settled.
Ravenpaw was gazing around him with an almost awestruck look—Firestar guessed he was remembering Bluestar, and maybe wondering at how the apprentice who had trained with him had come to take the former leader’s place. Barley, however, looked uneasy, crouching with his paws tucked under him as he began to speak.
“I was born in Twolegplace,” he began quietly. “I know too much about Scourge and his warriors. I…I suppose you could say I was once a member of BloodClan.”
Firestar’s interest quickened. “Go on.”
“The first thing I remember is playing with my littermates on a patch of waste ground,” Barley explained. “Our mother taught us to hunt and find food among Twoleg rubbish. Later on she showed us how to defend ourselves.”
“Your mother mentored you?” Firestar asked, surprised. “All of you?”
Barley nodded. “BloodClan doesn’t have a proper system of mentors and apprentices. It’s not a Clan at all in the way you forest cats understand it. Most cats listen to Scourge because he’s the strongest and the most vicious, and Bone is a kind of deputy, insofar as he carries out Scourge’s dirty work.”
“Bone?” Fireheart asked. “Is that a big black-and-white cat? He was there at Fourtrees.”
“That sounds like him, yes.” The loner’s voice was filled with disgust. “He’s almost as bad as Scourge. Any cats who don’t do as they’re told are chased off, if they’re lucky, or more likely killed.”
Firestar stared at him. “But what about caring for kits and elders?”
Barley shrugged. “A she-cat’s mate will probably hunt for her while she’s nursing her kits,” he mewed. “Even Scourge realizes that if there are no kits, sooner or later there’s no Clan. But elders, or cats who are sick or injured—well, they’re left to fend for themselves. It’s kill or be killed, hunt or starve. There’s no room for weakness.”
Firestar felt every hair on his pelt bristle at the thought of a Clan that did not care for cats who were in need, where cats who had given good service were allowed to die if they could not care for themselves.
“Then why does any cat follow Scourge?” he burst out.
“Some of them enjoy killing.” Barley’s tone was cold and his eyes were bleak, staring at something Firestar could not see. “And others are too scared to do anything else. You can’t lead your own life in Twolegplace if you’re not a kittypet with a Twoleg nest to go to. Either you’re with Scourge or against him, and cats who are against him don’t last long.”
Ravenpaw shifted closer to his friend and pressed his muzzle comfortingly against his flank. “That’s why Barley left,” he meowed. “Tell Firestar about it, Barley.”
“There’s nothing much to tell.” Barley flinched, shrinking from some dark memory. “I couldn’t bear what Scourge was doing, so one night I slipped away. I was terrified that Scourge or his warriors would catch me, but I reached the edge of Twolegplace and crossed the Thunderpath. I scented cats in the forest, but at the time I thought they would be just like Scourge and his lot, so I kept away from them. And finally I came to the farm, where it seemed I could live unchallenged. The Twolegs leave me in peace. They have no use for their mice.”
He fell silent while Firestar thought rapidly. Barley’s words confirmed what he had already known, that Scourge was a violent and dangerous enemy. “Scourge must have weaknesses,” he meowed to Barley. “There must be some way of defeating him.”
Barley met his eyes and leaned toward Firestar. “His one great strength is his one great weakness,” he replied. “Scourge and his warriors don’t believe in StarClan.”
Firestar wondered what he meant. Cloudtail had no belief in StarClan, but he was still a loyal ThunderClan cat. What was Barley trying to tell him?
“BloodClan has no medicine cat,” Barley went on. “I’ve already told you, they don’t care for the sick, and if they don’t believe in StarClan, there aren’t any signs that could be interpreted.”
“Then…they don’t follow the warrior code?” That had been a stupid question, Firestar realized as soon as the words were out. Everything Barley had told him, everything he had seen for himself of the way Scourge and his cats behaved, confirmed that. “And you’re telling me that’s a weakness? All it means is they can do as they like, with no code of honor to stop them.”
“That’s true,” Barley admitted. “But think, Firestar. Without the warrior code you might be just as bloodthirsty as Scourge. You might even be better at fighting him. But without the belief in StarClan—what are you then?”
He met Firestar’s eyes steadily. Firestar’s head reeled. After what Barley had told him he dreaded BloodClan even more, and yet somewhere in his mind there was a faint spark of hope, as if StarClan were trying to tell him something that he couldn’t understand—or not yet.
“Thank you, Barley,” he meowed. “I’ll think about what you’ve told me. And I won’t forget that you tried to help us.”
“That’s not all we’ll do.” Ravenpaw rose to his paws. “Onewhisker told us that you’re meeting Scourge in battle in three days—two days, now. When you do, we’ll both be with you.”
Firestar stared at him, mouth open. “But you’re loners,” he began. “It’s not your quarrel…”
“Come on, Firestar,” Barley mewed. “If Scourge and his gang take over the forest, how long do you think we would last? It wouldn’t take them a quarter moon to find our barn and all the plump mice. We’d have the choice of getting out or being killed.”
“We’d rather fight for our friends,” Ravenpaw added quietly.
“Thank you.” Firestar felt humbled by the depth of loyalty the two loners were showing to him. “All the Clans will honor you.”
Barley snorted. “I don’t know about that. All I want is a quiet life—but I won’t get it until BloodClan is dealt with.”
“None if us will.” Firestar’s ears twitched in agreement. “There’s no hope for any of us while Scourge is in the forest.”
Firestar had said good-bye to Ravenpaw and Barley and was heading for the sandy hollow to check up on the training program when he spotted Longtail and Frostfur leaping down the ravine. Firestar paused and waited for them.
“Any news?” he asked.
Lo n g tail nodded. “We’ve been along the ShadowClan border as far as Fourtrees,” he reported. “There’s a reek of BloodClan coming from ShadowClan territory. You get the foul stink in your nose even from across the Thunderpath.”